M-.i  -itvyitr^ 


GIFT   OF 
A.    F,    Morrison 


',1    GEORGE  SAND 


.  'kj^.^j.  o'^y- 


H.  M.  CALDWELL  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK  AND  BOSTON     .*»     ^ 


Copyright^  1894 
BY  George  H.  Richmond  &  Co. 

GIFT  OF  , 
• ' ,  •  •      •   ••••••   « 


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PREFATORY    NOTE 

Francois  le  Champi,  a  pretty  idyl  that  tells  of 
homely  affections,  self-devotion,  *'  humble  cares  and 
delicate  fears,"  opens  a  little  vista  into  that  Arcadia 
to  which,  the  poet  says,  we  were  all  born.  It  offers 
many  difficulties  to  the  translator.  It  is  a  rustic  tale, 
put  into  the  mouths  of  peasants,  who  relate  it  with  a 
primitive  simplicity,  sweet  and  full  of  sentiment  in  the 
French,  but  prone  to  degenerate  into  mawkishness 
and  monotony  when  turned  into  English.  Great  care 
has  been  taken  to  keep  the  English  of  this  version 
simple  and  idiomatic,  and  yet  religiously  to  avoid  any 
breach  of  faith  toward  the  author.  It  is  hoped  that, 
though  the  original  pure  and  limpid  waters  have 
necessarily  contracted  some  stain  by  being  forced  into 
another  channel,  they  may  yet  yield  refreshment  to 
those  thirsty  souls  who  cannot  seek  them  at  the 
fountain-head. 

J.  M.  S. 

Stockhridge,  January,  1894. 


M9562J 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

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PREFACE 

FRANCOIS  LE  CH  AMPI  appeared  for  the  first  time 
in  the  feuilleton  of  the  **  Journal  des  Debats." 
Just  as  the  plot  of  my  story  was  reaching  its  develop- 
ment, another  more  serious  development  was  an- 
nounced in  the  first  column  of  the  same  newspaper. 
It  was  the  final  downfall  of  the  July  Monarchy,  in 
the  last  days  of  February,  1848. 

This  catastrophe  was  naturally  very  prejudicial  to 
my  story,  the  publication  of  which  was  interrupted 
and  delayed,  and  not  finally  completed,  if  I  remem- 
ber correctly,  until  the  end  of  a  month.  For  those 
of  my  readers  who  are  artists  either  by  profession  or 
instinct,  and  are  interested  in  the  details  of  the  con- 
struction of  works  of  art,  I  shall  add  to  my  intro- 
duction that,  some  days  before  the  conversation  of 
which  that  introduction  is  the  outcome,  I  took  a 
walk  through  the  Chemin  aux  Napes.  The  word 
nape^  which,  in  the  figurative  language  of  that  part 
of  the  country,  designates  the  beautiful  plant  called 
nSnufar^  or  nymphcea,  is  happily  descriptive  of  the 
broad  leaves  that  lie  upon  the  surface  of  the  water, 
7 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

as  a  cloth  {nappe)  upon  a  table ;  but  I  prefer  to  write 
it  with  a  single  p,  and  to  trace  its  derivation  from 
iiapSe,  thus  leaving  unchanged  its  mythological  origin. 

The  Chemin  aux  Nape^s^  which  probably  none  of 
you,  my  dear  readers,  will  ever  see,  as  it  leads  to 
nothing  that  can  repay  you  for  the  trouble  of  passing 
through  so  much  mire,  is  a  break-neck  path,  skirting 
along  a  ditch  where,  in  the  muddy  water,  grow  the 
most  beautiful  nymphaeae  in  the  world,  more  fragrant 
than  lilies,  whiter  than  camellias,  purer  than  the  ves- 
ture of  virgins,  in  the  midst  of  the  lizards  and  other 
reptiles  that  crawl  about  the  mud  and  flowers,  while 
the  kingfisher  darts  like  living  lightning  along  the 
banks,  and  skims  with  a  fiery  track  the  rank  and 
luxuriant  vegetation  of  the  sewer. 

A  child  six  or  seven  years  old,  mounted  bare-back 
upon  a  loose  horse,  made  the  animal  leap  the  hedge 
behind  me,  and  then,  letting  himself  slide  to  the 
ground,  left  his  shaggy  colt  in  the  pasture,  and  re- 
turned to  try  jumping  over  the  barrier  which  he  had 
so  lightly  crossed  on  horseback  a  minute  before.  It 
was  not  such  an  easy  task  for  his  little  legs;  I  helped 
him,  and  had  with  him  a  conversation  similar  to  that 
between  the  miller's  wife  and  the  foundling,  related 
in  the  beginning  of  ^'The  Waif."  When  I  ques- 
8 


PREFACE 

tioned  him  about  his  age,  which  he  did  not  know,  he 
literally  delivered  himself  of  the  brilliant  reply  that  he 
was  two  years  old.  He  knew  neither  his  own  name, 
nor  that  of  his  parents,  nor  of  the  place  he  lived  in; 
all  that  he  knew  was  to  cling  on  an  unbroken  colt, 
as  a  bird  clings  to  a  branch  shaken  by  the  storm. 

I  have  had  educated  several  foundlings  of  both 
sexes,  who  have  turned  out  well  physically  and 
morally.  It  is  no  less  certain,  however,  that  these 
forlorn  children  are  apt,  in  rural  districts,  to  become 
bandits,  owing  to  their  utter  lack  of  education.  In- 
trusted to  the  care  of  the  poorest  people,  because  of 
the  insufficient  pittance  assigned  to  them,  they  often 
practise,  for  the  benefit  of  their  adopted  parents,  the 
shameful  calling  of  beggars.  Would  it  not  be  pos- 
sible to  increase  this  pittance  on  condition  that  the 
foundlings  shall  never  beg,  even  at  the  doors  of  their 
neighbors  and  friends  ? 

I  have  also  learned  by  experience  that  nothing  is 
more  difficult  than  to  teach  self-respect  and  the  love 
of  work  to  children  who  have  already  begun  under- 
standingly  to  live  upon  alms. 

GEORGE  SAND. 

N oh  ant,  May  20,  18^2, 


THE  •  WAIF  >; 


'Lw>rR'x:<D,L':cTi&?^:  *, : 


^***  AND  I  were  coming  home  from  our  walk 
by  the  light  of  the  moon  which  faintly  sil- 
vered the  dusky  country  lanes.  It  was  a  mild  au- 
tumn evening,  and  the  sky  was  slightly  overcast;  we 
observed  the  resonance  of  the  air  peculiar  to  the  sea- 
son, and  a  certain  mystery  spread  over  the  face  of 
nature.  At  the  approach  of  the  long  winter  sleep,  it 
seems  as  if  every  creature  and  thing  stealthily  agreed 
to  enjoy  what  is  left  of  life  and  animation  before  the 
deadly  torpor  of  the  frost;  and  as  if  the  whole  crea- 
tion, in  order  to  cheat  the  march  of  time,  and  to  avoid 
being  detected  and  interrupted  in  the  last  frolics  of 
its  festival,  advanced  without  sound  or  apparent 
motion  toward  its  orgies  in  the  night.  The  birds 
give  out  stifled  cries  instead  of  their  joyous  summer 
II 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

warblings.  The  cricket  of  the  fields  sometimes 
chirps  inadvertently;  but  it  soon  stops  again,  and 
carries  elsewhere  its  song  or  its  wail.  The  plants 
hastily  breathe  out  their  last  perfume,  which  is  all  the 
sweeter  for  being  more  delicate  and  less  profuse. 
The  yelloJA^jng  leaves  bev/'  lio ! longer  rustle  in  the 
breeze,  and  the  flocks  ani  herds' graze  in  silence  with- 
oi\t.crlesl  of  lav^eW' CQiiibat.  ;    y,  '   '^ 

My  Wend  hn'd  I' 'walked 'cfilietly  aiong,  and  our  in- 
voluntary thoughtfulness  made  us  silent  and  attentive 
to  the  softened  beauty  of  nature,  and  to  the  enchant- 
ing harmony  of  her  last  chords,  which  were  dying 
riway  in  an  imperceptible  pianissimo.  Autumn  is  a 
sad  and  sweet  andante,  which  makes  an  admirable 
preparation  for  the  solemn  adagio  of  winter. 

*'  It  is  all  so  peaceful,"  said  my  friend  at  last,  for,  in 
spite  of  our  silence,  he  had  followed  my  thoughts  as 
I  followed  his;  "everything  seems  absorbed  in  a 
reverie  so  foreign  and  so  indifferent  to  the  labors, 
cares,  and  preoccupations  of  man,  that  I  wonder  what 
expression,  what  color,  and  what  form  of  art  and 
poetry  human  intelligence  could  give  at  this  moment 
to  the  face  of  nature.  In  order  to  explain  better  to 
you  the  end  of  my  inquiry,  I  may  compare  the 
•  evening,  the  sky,  and  the  landscape,  dimmed,  and 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

yet  harmonious  and  complete,  to  the  soul  of  a  wise 
and  religious  peasant,  who  labors  and  profits  by  his 
toil,  who  rejoices  in  the  possession  of  the  life  to 
which  he  is  born,  without  the  need,  the  longing,  or 
the  means  of  revealing  and  expressing  his  inner  life. 
I  try  to  place  myself  in  the  heart  of  the  mystery  of 
this  natural  rustic  life  —  I,  who  am  civilized,  who 
cannot  enjoy  by  instinct  alone,  and  who  am  always 
tormented  by  the  desire  of  giving  an  account  of  my 
contemplation,  or  of  my  meditation,  to  myself  and  to 
others. 

''  Then,  too,"  continued  my  friend,  'M  am  trying 
to  find  out  what  relation  can  be  established  between 
•my  intelligence,  which  is  too  active,  and  that  of  the 
peasant,  which  is  not  active  enough;  just  as  I  was 
considering  a  moment  ago  what  painting,  music, 
description,  the  interpretation  of  art,  in  short,  could 
add  to  the  beauty  of  this  autumnal  night  which  is 
revealed  to  me  in  its  mysterious  silence,  and  affects 
me  in  some  magical  and  unknown  way." 

**  Let  us  see,"  said  I,  "  how  your  question  is  put. 
This  October  night,  this  colorless  sky,  this  music 
without  any  distinct  or  connected  melody,  this  calm 
of  nature,  and  this  peasant  who  by  his  very  sim- 
plicity is  more  able  than  we  to  enjoy  and  understand 

n 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

it,  though  he  cannot  portray  it — let  us  put  all  this 
together  and  call  it  primitive  life,  with  relation  to  our 
own  highly  developed  and  complicated  life,  which  I 
shall  call  artificial  life.  You  are  asking  what  possi- 
ble  connection  or  direct  link  can  there  be  betweerr. 
these  two  opposite  conditions  in  the  existence  of  per- 
sons and  things;  between  the  palace  and  the  cottage^ 
between  the  artist  and  the  universe,  between  the- 
poet  and  the  laborer." 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "and  let  us  be  exact:  be- 
tween the  language  spoken  by  nature,  primitive  life,, 
and  instinct,  and  that  spoken  by  art,  science, —  in  a 
word,  by  'knowledge.^'' 

"  To  answer  in  the  language  you  have  adopted,  I 
sho'uld  say  that  the  link  between  knowledge  and 
sensation  \s  feeling^ 

"It  is  about  the  definition  of  feeling  that  I  am 
going  to  question  you  and  myself,  for  its  mission  is 
the  interpretation  which  is  troubling  me.  It  is  the 
art  or  artist,  if  you  prefer,  empowered  to  translate 
the  purity,  grace,  and  charm  of  the  primitive  life  to 
those  who  only  live  the  artificial  life,  and  who  are, 
if  you  will  allow  me  to  say  so,  the  greatest  fools  in 
the  world  in  the  presence  of  nature  and  her  divine 
secrets." 

H 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

**  You  are  asking  nothing  less  than  the  secret  of 
art,  and  you  must  look  for  it  in  the  breast  of  God. 
No  artist  can  reveal  it,  for  he  does  not  know  it  him- 
self, and  cannot  give  an  account  of  the  sources  of  his 
own  inspiration  or  his  own  weakness.  How  shall 
one  attempt  to  express  beauty,  simplicity,  and  truth  ? 
Do  I  know?  And  can  anybody  teach  us ?  No,  not 
even  the  greatest  artists,  because  if  they  tried  to 
do  so  they  would  cease  to  be  artists,  and  would  be- 
come critics;  and  criticism — " 

"And  criticism,"  rejoined  my  friend,  "has  been  re- 
volving for  centuries  about  the  mystery  without  un- 
derstanding it.  But,  excuse  me,  that  is  not  exactly 
what  I  meant.  I  am  still  more  radical  at  this  mo- 
ment, and  call  the  power  of  art  in  question.  I  despise 
it,  I  annihilate  it,  I  declare  that  art  is  not  born,  that 
it  does  not  exist;  or,  if  it  has  been,  its  time  is  past. 
It  is  exhausted,  it  has  no  more  expression,  no  more 
breath  of  life,  no  more  means  to  sing  of  the  beauty 
of  truth.  Nature  is  a  work  of  art,  but  God  is  the 
only  artist  that  exists,  and  man  is  but  an  arranger 
in  bad  taste.  Nature  is  beautiful,  and  breathes  feel- 
ing from  all  her  pores;  love,  youth,  beauty  are  in 
her  imperishable.  But  man  has  but  foolish  means 
:and  miserable  faculties  for  feeling  and  expressing  them. 
15 


FRANgOIS   THE  WAIF 

He  had  better  keep  aloof,  silent  and  absorbed  in  con- 
templation.    Come,  what  have  you  to  say?  " 

"  I  agree,  and  am  quite  satisfied  with  your  opin- 
ion," I  answered. 

**  Ah! "  he  cried,  '*  you  are  going  too  far,  and  em- 
brace my  paradox  too  warmly.  I  am  only  pleading, 
and  want  you  to  reply." 

"  I  reply,  then,  that  a  sonnet  of  Petrarch  has  its 
relative  beauty,  which  is  equivalent  to  the  beauty  of 
the  water  of  Vaucluse;  that  a  fine  landscape  of 
Ruysdael  has  a  charm  which  equals  that  of  this 
evening;  that  Mozart  sings  in  the  language  of  men 
as  well  as  Philomel  in  that  of  birds  ;  that  Shakspere 
delineates  passions,  emotions,  and  instincts  as  vividly 
as  the  actual  primitive  man  can  experience  them. 
This  is  art  and  its  relativeness — in  short,  feeling." 

"Yes,  it  is  all  a  work  of  transformation!  But 
suppose  that  it  does  not  satisfy  me?  Even  if 
you  were  a  thousand  times  in  the  right  according  to 
the  decrees  of  taste  and  esthetics,  what  if  I  think 
Petrarch's  verses  less  harmonious  than  the  roar  of  the 
waterfall,  and  so  on  ?  If  I  maintain  that  there  is  in 
this  evening  a  charm  that  no  one  could  reveal  to  me 
unless  I  had  felt  it  myself;  and  that  all  Shakspere's 
passion  is  cold  in  comparison  with  that  I  see  gleam- 
16 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

ing  in  the  eyes  of  a  jealous  peasant  who  beats  his 
wife,  what  should  you  have  to  say  ?  You  must  con- 
vince my  feeling.  And  if  it  eludes  your  examples 
and  resists  your  proofs?  Art  is  not  an  invincible 
demonstrator,  and  feeling  not  always  satisfied  by  the 
best  definition." 

*'  I  have  really  nothing  to  answer  except  that  art 
is  a  demonstration  of  which  nature  is  the  proof;  that 
the  preexisting  fact  of  the  proof  is  always  present  to 
justify  or  contradict  the  demonstration, which  nobody 
can  make  successfully  unless  he  examine  the  proof 
with  religious  love." 

*'  So  the  demonstration  could  not  do  without  the 
proof;  but  could  the  proof  do  without  the  demon- 
stration?" 

"No  doubt  God  could  do  without  it;  but,  al- 
though you  are  talking  as  if  you  did  not  belong  to 
us,  I  am  willing  to  wager  that  you  would  understand 
nothing  of  the  proof  if  you  had  not  found  the  demon- 
stration under  a  thousand  forms  in  the  tradition  of 
art,  and  if  you  were  not  yourself  a  demonstration 
constantly  acting  upon  the  proof." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  am  complaining  of.  I  should 
like  to  rid  myself  of  this  eternal  irritating  demonstra- 
tion; to  erase  from  my  memory  the  teachings  and 
17 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

the  forms  of  art;  never  to  think  of  painting  when  I 
look  at  a  landscape,  of  music  when  I  listen  to  the 
wind,  or  of  poetry  when  I  admire  and  take  delight 
in  both  together.  I  should  like  to  enjoy  everything 
instinctively,  because  I  think  that  the  cricket  which 
is  singing  just  now  is  more  joyous  and  ecstatic 
than  I." 

"  You  complain,  then,  of  being  a  man?  " 

"No;  I  complain  of  being  no  longer  a  primitive 
man." 

"  It  remains  to  be  known  whether  he  was  capable 
of  enjoying  what  he  could  not  understand." 

*M  do  not  suppose  that  he  was  similar  to  the 
brutes,  for  as  soon  as  he  became  a  man  he  thought 
and  felt  differently  from  them.  But  I  cannot  form  an 
exact  idea  of  his  emotions,  and  that  is  what  bothers 
me.  I  should  like  to  be  what  the  existing  state  of 
society  allows  a  great  number  of  men  to  be  from  the 
cradle  to  the  grave — I  should  like  to  be  a  peasant;  a 
peasant  who  does  not  know  how  to  read,  whom  God 
has  endowed  with  good  instincts,  a  serene  organiza- 
tion, and  an  upright  conscience;  and  I  fancy  that  in 
the  sluggishness  of  my  useless  faculties,  and  in  the 
ignorance  of  depraved  tastes,  I  should  be  as  happy 
as  the  primitive  man  of  Jean-Jacques's  dreams." 
i8 


FRANgOlS  THE  WAIF 

'*  I,  too,  have  had  this  same  dream;  who  has  not? 
But,  even  so,  your  reasoning  is  not  conclusive,  for  the 
imost  simple  and  ingenuous  peasant  may  still  be  an 
artist;  and  I  believe  even  that  his  art  is  superior  to  ours. 
The  form  is  different,  but  it  appeals  more  strongly  to 
me  than  all  the  forms  which  belong  to  civilization. 
Songs,  ballads,  and  rustic  tales  say  in  a  few  words 
what  our  literature  can  only  amplify  and  disguise." 

"I  may  triumph,  then?  "resumed  my  friend.  **The 
peasant's  art  is  the  best,  because  it  is  more  directly 
inspired  by  nature  by  being  in  closer  contact  with  her. 
I  confess  I  went  to  extremes  in  saying  that  art  was 
good  for  nothing;  but  I  meant  that  I  should  like  to 
feel  after  the  fashion  of  the  peasant,  and  I  do  not 
contradict  myself  now.  There  are  certain  Breton 
laments,  made  by  beggars,  which  in  three  couplets 
are  worth  all  Goethe  and  Byron  put  together,  and 
which  prove  that  appreciation  of  truth  and  beauty 
was  more  spontaneous  and  complete  in  such  simple 
souls  than  in  our  most  distinguished  poets.  And 
music,  too!  Is  not  our  country  full  of  lovely  melo- 
dies ?  And  though  they  do  not  possess  painting  as 
an  art,  they  have  it  in  their  speech,  which  is  a  hun- 
dred times  more  expressive,  forcible,  and  logical  than 
our  literary  language." 

19 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

**  I  agree  with  you,"  said  I,  '*  especially  as  to  this 
last  point.  It  drives  me  to  despair  that  I  am  obliged 
to  write  in  the  language  of  the  Academy,  when  I  am 
much  more  familiar  with  another  tongue  infinitely 
more  fitted  for  expressing  a  whole  order  of  emotions, 
thoughts,  and  feelings." 

''Oh,  yes!"  said  he,  "that  fresh  and  unknown 
world  is  closed  to  modern  art,  and  no  study  can  help 
you  to  express  it  even  to  yourself,  with  all  your 
sympathies  for  the  peasant,  if  you  try  to  introduce  it 
into  the  domain  of  civilized  art  and  the  intellectual 
intercourse  of  artificial  life." 

"Alas!  "  I  answered,  "this  thought  has  often  dis- 
turbed me.  I  have  myself  seen  and  felt,  in  common 
with  all  civilized  beings,  that  primitive  life  was  the 
dream  and  ideal  of  all  men  and  all  times.  From 
the  shepherds  of  Longus  down  to  those  of  Trianon, 
pastoral  life  has  been  a  perfumed  Eden,  where  souls 
wearied  and  harassed  by  the  tumult  of  the  world 
have  sought  a  refuge.  Art,  which  has  always  flat- 
tered and  fawned  upon  the  too  fortunate  among 
mankind,  has  passed  through  an  unbroken  series  of 
pastorals.  And  under  the  title  of  '  The  History  of 
Pastorals '  I  have  often  wished  to  write  a  learned  and 
critical  work,  in  which  to  review  all  the  different  rural 

20 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

dreams  to  which  the  upper  classes  have  so  fondly 
clung. 

' '  I  should  follow  their  modifications,  which  are  al- 
ways in  inverse  relation  to  the  depravity  of  morals, 
for  they  become  innocent  and  sentimental  in  propor- 
tion as  society  is  shameless  and  corrupt.  I  should 
like  to  order  this  book  of  a  writer  better  qualified 
than  I  to  accomplish  it,  and  then  I  should  read  it 
with  delight.  It  should  be  a  complete  treatise  on 
art;  for  music,  painting,  architecture,  literature  in  all 
its  forms,  the  theater,  poetry,  romances,  eclogues, 
songs,  fashions,  gardens,  and  even  dress,  have  been 
influenced  by  the  infatuation  for  the  pastoral  dream. 
All  the  types  of  the  golden  age,  the  shepherdesses  of 
Astrcea,  who  are  first  nymphs  and  then  marchionesses, 
and  who  pass  through  the  Lignon  of  Florian,  wear 
satin  and  powder  under  Louis  XV.,  and  are  put  into 
sabots  by  Sedaine  at  the  end  of  the  monarchy,  aie 
all  more  or  less  false,  and  seem  to  us  to-day  con- 
temptible and  ridiculous.  We  have  done  with  them, 
and  see  only  their  ghosts  at  the  opera  ;  and  yet  they 
once  reigned  at  court  and  were  the  delight  of  kings, 
who  borrowed  from  them  the  shepherd's  crook  and 
scrip. 

**  I  have  often  wondered  why  there  are  no  more 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

shepherds,  for  we  are  not  so  much  in  love  with  the 
truth  lately  that  art  and  literature  can  afford  to  de- 
spise the  old  conventional  types  rather  than  those 
introduced  by  the  present  mode.  To-day  we  are  de- 
voted to  force  and  brutality,  and  on  the  background 
of  these  passions  we  embroider  decorations  horrible 
enough  to  make  our  hair  stand  on  end  if  we  could 
take  them  seriously." 

*'  If  we  have  no  more  shepherds,"  rejoined  my 
friend,  "and  if  literature  has  changed  one  false  ideal 
for  another,  is  it  not  an  involuntary  attempt  of  art  to 
bring  itself  down  to  the  level  of  the  intelligence  of 
all  classes?  Does  not  the  dream  of  equality  afloat 
in  society  impel  art  to  a  fierce  brutality  in  order  to 
awaken  those  instincts  and  passions  common  to  all 
men,  of  whatever  rank  they  may  be?  Nobody  has 
as  yet  reached  the  truth.  It  exists  no  more  in  a  hid- 
eous realism  than  in  an  embellished  idealism ;  but 
there  is  plainly  a  search  for  it,  and  if  the  search  is  in 
the  wrong  direction,  the  eagerness  of  the  pursuit  is 
only  quickened.  Let  us  see:  the  drama,  poetry,  and 
the  novel  have  thrown  away  the  shepherd's  crook  for 
the  dagger,  and  when  rustic  life  appears  on  the  scene 
it  has  a  stamp  of  reality  which  was  wanting  in  the 
old  pastorals.     But  there  is  no  more  poetry  in  it,  I 


FRANCOIS   THE  WAIF 

am  sorry  to  say;  and  I  do  not  yet  see  the  means  of 
reinstating  the  pastoral  ideal  without  making  it 
either  too  gaudy  or  too  somber.  You  have  often 
thought  of  doing  it,  I  know;  but  can  you  hope  for 
success  ?  " 

''  No,"  I  answered,  '*  for  there  is  no  form  for  me  to 
adopt,  and  there  is  no  language  in  which  to  express 
my  conception  of  rustic  simplicity.  If  I  made  the 
laborer  of  the  fields  speak  as  he  does  speak,  it  would 
be  necessary  to  have  a  translation  on  the  opposite 
page  for  the  civilized  reader;  and  if  I  made  him 
speak  as  we  do,  I  should  create  an  impossible  being, 
in  whom  it  would  be  necessary  to  suppose  an  order 
of  ideas  which  he  does  not  possess." 

"  Even  if  you  made  him  speak  as  he  does  speak,* 
your  own  language  would  constantly  make  a  dis- 
agreeable contrast ;  and  in  my  opinion  you  cannot 
escape  this  criticism.  You  describe  a  peasant  girl, 
call  her  Jeanne,  and  put  into  her  mouth  words  which 
she  might  possibly  use.  But  you,  who  are  the  writer 
of  the  novel,  and  are  anxious  to  make  your  readers 
understand  your  fondness  for  painting  this  kind  of 
type  —  you  compare  her  to  a  druidess,  to  a  Jeanne 
d'Arc,  and  so  on.  Your  opinions  and  language  make 
an  incongruous  effect  with  hers,  like  the  clashing  of 
23 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

harsh  colors  in  a  picture;  and  this  is  not  the  way 
fully  to  enter  into  nature,  even  if  you  idealize  her. 
Since  then  you  have  made  a  better  and  more  truth- 
ful study  in  'The  Devil's  Pool.'  Still,  1  am  not  yet 
satisfied ;  the  tip  of  the  author's  fmger  is  apparent 
from  time  to  time  ;  and  there  are  some  author's 
words,  as  they  are  called  by  Henri  Mounier,  an  artist 
who  has  succeeded  in  being  true  in  caricature,  and 
who  has  consequently  solved  the  problem  he  had  set 
for  himself.  I  know  that  your  own  problem  is  no 
easier  to  solve.  But  you  must  still  try,  although  you 
are  sure  of  not  succeeding ;  masterpieces  are  only 
lucky  attempts.  You  may  console  yourself  for  not 
achieving  masterpieces,  provided  that  your  attempts 
are  conscientious." 

"  I  am  consoled  beforehand,"  I  answered,  ''and  I 
am  willing  to  begin  again  whenever  you  wish;  please 
give  me  your  advice." 

"  For  example,"  said  he,  "we  were  present  last 
evening  at  a  rustic  gathering  at  the  farm,  and  the 
hemp-dresser  told  a  story  until  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  The  priest's  servant  helped  him  with  his 
tale,  and  resumed  it  when  he  stopped;  she  was  a 
peasant-woman  of  some  slight  education  ;  he  was 
uneducated,  but  happily  gifted  by  nature  and  en- 
24 


FRANCOIS   THE  WAIF 

dowed  with  a  certain  rude  eloquence.  Between  them 
they  related  a  true  story,  which  was  rather  long, 
and  like  a  simple  kind  of  novel.  Can  you  remem- 
ber it?" 

"  Perfectly,  and  I  could  repeat  it  word  for  word  in 
their  language." 

*'  But  their  language  would  require  a  translation; 
you  must  write  in  your  own,  without  using  a  single 
word  unintelligible  enough  to  necessitate  a  foot- 
note for  the  reader." 

"  I  see  that  you  are  setting  an  impossible  task  for 
me — a  task  into  which  I  have  never  plunged  without 
emerging  dissatisfied  with  myself,  and  overcome  with 
a  sense  of  my  own  weakness." 

''  No  matter,  you  must  plunge  in  again,  for  I  un- 
derstand you  artists ;  you  need  obstacles  to  rouse 
your  enthusiasm,  and  you  never  do  well  what  is 
plain  and  easy  to  you.  Come,  begin,  tell  me  the 
story  of  the  *  Waif,'  but  not  in  the  way  that  you  and 
I  heard  it  last  night.  That  was  a  masterly  piece  of 
narrative  for  you  and  me  who  are  children  of  the  soil. 
But  tell  it  to  me  as  if  you  had  on  your  right  hand  a 
Parisian  speaking  the  modern  tongue,  and  on  your 
left  a  peasant  before  whom  you  were  unwilling  to 
utter  a  word  or  phrase  which  he  could  not  under- 
25 


FRANCOIS   THE   WAIF 

stand.  You  must  speak  clearly  for  the  Parisian,  and 
simply  for  the  peasant.  One  will  accuse  you  of  a 
lack  of  local  color,  and  the  other  of  a  lack  of  ele- 
gance. But  I  shall  be  listening  too,  and  I  am  trying 
to  discover  by  what  means  art,  without  ceasing  to 
be  universal,  can  penetrate  the  mystery  of  primitive 
simplicity,  and  interpret  the  charm  of  nature  to  the 
mind." 

"  This,  then,  is  a  study  which  we  are  going  to 
undertake  together?  " 

'^  Yes,  for  I  shall  interrupt  you  when  you  stumble." 

''  Very  well,  let  us  sit  down  on  this  bank  covered 
with  wild  thyme.  I  will  begin  ;  but  first  allow  me 
to  clear  my  voice  with  a  few  scales." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  I  did  not  know  that  you 
could  sing." 

'M  am  only  speaking  metaphorically.  Before  be- 
ginning a  work  of  art,  I  think  it  is  well  to  call  to 
mind  some  theme  or  other  to  serve  as  a  type, 
and  to  induce  the  desired  frame  of  mind.  So,  in  order 
to  prepare  myself  for  what  you  ask,  I  must  recite  the 
story  of  the  dog  of  Brisquet,  which  is  short,  and 
which  I  know  by  heart." 

"  What  is  it?     I  cannot  recall  it." 

'Mt  is  an  exercise  for  my  voice,  written  by  Charles 
26 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

Nodier,  who  tried  his  in  all  possible  keys  ;  a  great 
artist,  to  my  thinking,  and  one  who  has  never  re- 
ceived all  the  applause  he  deserved,  because,  among 
all  his  varied  attempts,  he  failed  more  often  than  he 
succeeded.  But  when  a  man  has  achieved  two  or 
three  masterpieces,  no  matter  how  short  they  may  be, 
he  should  be  crowned,  and  his  mistakes  should  be 
forgotten.  Here  is  the  dog  of  Brisquet.  You  must 
listen." 

Then  I  repeated  to  my  friend  the  story  of  the 
*'Bichonne,"  which  moved  him  to  tears,  and  which 
he  declared  to  be  a  masterpiece  of  style. 

''  I  should  be  discouraged  in  what  I  am  going  to 
attempt,"  said  I,  ''for  this  Odyssey  of  the  poor  dog 
of  Brisquet,  which  did  not  take  five  minutes  to  recite, 
has  no  stain  or  blot ;  it  is  a  diamond  cut  by  the  first 
lapidary  in  the  world — for  Nodier  is  essentially  a  lapi- 
dary in  literature.  I  am  not  scientific,  and  must  call 
sentiment  to  my  aid.  Then,  too,  I  cannot  promise 
to  be  brief,  for  I  know  beforehand  that  my  study  will 
fail  in  the  first  of  all  requisites,  that  of  being  short 
and  good  at  the  same  time." 

"  Go  on,  nevertheless,"  said  my  friend,  bored  by 
tny  preliminaries. 

"  This,  then,  is  the  history  of  '  Francois  the 
^1 


FRANgOIS  THE   WAIF 

Champij^^^  I  resumed,  "and  I  shall  try  to  remember 
the  first  part  without  any  alteration.  It  was  Mo- 
nique,  the  old  servant  of  the  priest,  who  began." 

"  One  moment,"  said  my  severe  auditor,  *'  I  must 
object  to  your  title.     Champi  is  not  French." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  answered.  **  The  diction- 
ary says  it  is  obsolete,  but  Montaigne  uses  it,  and  I 
do  not  wish  to  be  more  French  than  the  great 
writers  who  have  created  the  language.  So  I  shall 
not  call  my  story '  Francois  the  Foundling,'  nor  '  Fran- 
cois the  Bastard,'  but '  Francois  the  Champi,^ — that 
is  to  say,  the  Waif,  the  forsaken  child  of  the  fields, 
as  he  was  once  called  in  the  great  world,  and  is  still 
called  in  our  part  of  the  country." 


28 


CHAPTER    I 


ONE  morning,  when  Madeleine  Blanchet,  the 
young  wife  of  the  miller  of  Cormouer, 
went  down  to  the  end  of  her  meadow  to  wash  her 
linen  in  the  fountain,  she  found  a  little  child  sitting 
in  front  of  her  washing-board  playing  with  the 
straw  she  used  as  a  cushion  for  her  knees.  Madeleine 
Blanchet  looked  at  the  child,  and  was  surprised  not 
to  recognize  him,  for  the  road  which  runs  near  by 
is  unfrequented,  and  few  strangers  are  to  be  met 
with  in  the  neighborhood. 

''Who  are  you,  my  boy?"  said  she  to  the  little 
boy,  who  turned  confidingly  toward  her,  but  did  not 
seem  to  understand  her  question.  ''What  is  your 
name?"  Madeleine  Blanchet  went  on,  as  she  made 
him  sit  down  beside  her,  and  knelt  down  to  begtn 
to  wash. 

"  Francois,"  answered  the  child. 

"  Francois  who?" 

29 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

''  Who  ?  "  said  the  child  stupidly. 

**  Whose  son  are  you  ?  " 

'*  I  don't  know." 

*'  You  don't  know  your  father's  name? " 

"  I  have  no  father." 

'*  Is  he  dead  then?" 

'M  don't  know." 

"  And  your  mother  ?  " 

**  She  is  over  there,"  said  the  child,  pointing  to  a 
poor  little  hovel  which  stood  at  the  distance  of  two 
gunshots  from  the  mill,  and  the  thatched  roof  of 
which  could  be  seen  through  the  willows. 

''Oh!  I  know,"  said  Madeleine.  "Is  she  the 
woman  who  has  come  to  live  here,  and  who  moved 
in  last  evening  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  child. 

"  And  you  used  to  live  at  Mers  ?  " 

"I  don't  know." 

* '  You  are  not  a  wise  child.  Do  you  know  your 
mother's  name,  at  least  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  Zabelle." 

"  Isabelle  who?  Don't  you  know  her  other 
name?" 

"No,  of  course  not." 

'*  What  you  know  will  not  wear  your  brains  out,'* 
30 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

said  Madeleine,  smiling  and  beginning  to  beat  her 
linen. 

''What  do  you  say?"  asked  little  Francois. 

Madeleine  looked  at  him  again;  he  was  a  fine 
child,  and  had  magnificent  eyes.  'Mt  is  a  pity,"  she 
thought,  "that  he  seems  to  be  so  idiotic.  How  old 
are  you?"  she  continued.  ''Perhaps  you  do  not 
know  that  either." 

The  truth  is  that  he  knew  no  more  about  this  than 
about  the  rest.  He  tried  his  best  to  answer,  ashamed 
to  have  the  miller's  wife  think  him  so  foolish,  and 
delivered  himself  of  this  brilliant  reply: 

"Two  years  old." 

"  Indeed?"  said  Madeleine,  wringing  out  her  linen, 
without  looking  at  him  any  more,  ' '  you  are  a  real 
little  simpleton,  and  nobody  has  taken  the  trouble  to 
teach  you,  my  poor  child.  You  are  tall  enough  to 
be  six  years  old,  but  you  have  not  the  sense  of  a 
child  of  two." 

"Perhaps,"  answered  Francois.  Then^  making 
another  effort,  as  if  to  shake  off  the  lethargy  from  his 
poor  little  mind,  he  said : 

"Were  you  asking  for  my  name?  It  is  Francois 
the  Waif." 

"Oh!  I  understand  now,"  said  Madeleine,  looking 
3' 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

at  him  compassionately;    and  she  was  no   longer 
astonished  that  he  was  so  dirty,  ragged,  and  stupid. 

"You  have  not  clothes  enough,"  said  she,  ''and 
the  weather  is  chill ;  I  am  sure  that  you  must  be 
cold." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  answered  the  poor  waif,  who 
was  so  accustomed  to  suffering  that  he  was  no 
longer  conscious  of  it. 

Madeleine  sighed.  She  thought  of  her  little  Jeannie, 
who  was  only  a  year  old^  and  was  sleeping  com- 
fortably in  his  cradle  watched  over  by  his  grand- 
mother, while  this  poor  little  waif  was  shivering  all 
alone  at  the  fountain's  brink,  preserved  from  drown- 
ing only  by  the  mercy  of  Providence,  for  he  was  too 
foolish  to  know  that  he  would  die  if  he  fell  into 
the  water. 

Madeleine,  whose  heart  was  full  of  kindness,  felt 
the  child's  arm  and  found  it  warm,  although  he 
shook  from  time  to  time,  and  his  pretty  face  was 
very  pale. 

**  Have  you  any  fever  ?  "  she  asked. 

'*  I  don't  know,"  answered  the  child,  who  was 
always  feverish. 

Madeleine  Blanchet  loosened  the  woolen  shawl 
from  her  shoulders  and  wrapped  it  round  the  waif, 
32 


FRANCOIS   THE   WAIF 

who  let  her  have  her  way  without  showing  either 
surprise  or  pleasure.  She  picked  up  all  the  straw 
from  under  his  knees  and  made  a  bed  for  him,  on 
which  he  soon  fell  asleep;  then  she  made  haste  to 
finish  washing  her  little  Jeannie's  clothes,  for  she 
nursed  her  baby  and  was  anxious  to  return  to  him. 

When  her  task  was  completed,  the  wet  linen  was 
twice  as  heavy  as  before,  and  she  could  not  carry 
it  all.  She  took  home  what  she  could,  and  left  the 
rest  with  her  wooden  beater  beside  the  water,  intend- 
ing to  come  back  immediately  and  wake  up  the  waif 
Madeleine  Blanchet  was  neither  tall  nor  strong.  She 
was  a  very  pretty  woman,  with  a  fearless  spirit  and 
a  reputation  for  sense  and  sweetness. 

As  she  opened  the  door  of  her  house  she  heard  the 
clattering  of  sabots  running  after  her  over  the  little 
bridge  above  the  mill-dam,  and,  turning  round,  she 
saw  the  waif,  who  had  caught  up  with  her,  and  was 
bringing  her  her  beater,  her  soap,  the  rest  of  the 
linen,  and  her  shawl. 

"  Oh!  "  said  she,  laying  her  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
*'you  are  not  so  foolish  as  I  thought,  for  you  are 
obliging,  and  nobody  who  has  a  good  heart  can  be 
stupid.  Come  in,  my  child,  come  in  and  rest.  Look 
at  this  poor  little  boy!  He  is  carrying  a  load  heavier 
3  33 


FRANgOIS  THE   WAIF 

than  himself!  Here,"  said  she  to  the  miller's  old 
mother,  who  handed  her  her  baby,  rosy  and  smiling, 
''  here  is  a  poor  sick-looking  waif.  You  understand 
fevers,  and  we  must  try  to  cure  him." 

*'  Ah  !  that  is  the  fever  of  poverty  !  "  replied  the 
old  woman,  as  she  looked  at  Francois.  **  He  could 
cure  it  with  good  soup,  but  he  cannot  get  that.  He 
is  the  little  waif  that  belongs  to  the  woman  who 
moved  in  yesterday.  She  is  your  husband's  tenant, 
Madeleine.  She  looks  very  wretched,  and  I  am 
afraid  that  she  will  not  pay  regularly." 

Madeleine  did  not  answer.  She  knew  that  her 
husband  and  her  mother-in-law  were  not  charita- 
ble, and  that  they  loved  their  money  more  than  their 
neighbor.  She  nursed  her  baby,  and  when  the  old 
woman  had  gone  out  to  drive  home  the  geese,  she 
took  Francois  by  the  hand,  and,  holding  Jeannie  on 
her  arm,  went  with  them  to  Zabelle's. 

Zabelle,  whose  real  name  was  Isabelle  Bigot,  was 
an  old  maid  of  fifty,  as  disinterested  as  a  woman 
can  be  when  she  has  nothing  to  live  on,  and  is  in 
constant  dread  of  starvation.  She  had  taken  Francois 
after  he  was  weaned,  from  a  dying  woman,  and  had 
brought  him  up  ever  since,  for  the  sake  of  the 
monthly  payment  of  a  few  pieces  of  silver,  and  with 
34 


FRANgOIS   THE  WAIF 

the  expectation  of  making  a  little  servant  out  of  him. 
She  had  lost  her  sheep,  and  was  forced  to  buy  others 
on  credit,  whenever  she  could  obtain  it ;  for  she  had 
no  other  means  of  support  than  her  little  flock,  and 
a  dozen  hens,  which  lived  at  the  expense  of  the 
parish.  She  meant  Franfois  to  tend  this  poor  flock 
along  the  roadsides,  until  he  should  be  old  enough  to 
make  his  first  communion,  after  which  she  expected 
to  hire  him  out  as  best  she  could,  either  as  a  little 
swineherd  or  a  plowboy,  and  she  was  sure  that 
if  his  heart  were  good  he  would  give  part  of  his 
wages  to  his  adopted  mother. 

Zabelle  had  come  from  Mers,  the  day  after  the 
feast  of  Saint  Martin,  leaving  her  last  goat  behind 
her  in  payment  of  what  she  owed  on  her  rent,  and 
had  taken  possession  of  the  little  cottage  belonging 
to  the  mill  of  Cormouer,  without  being  able  to  offer 
any  security  beside  her  pallet-bed,  two  chairs,  a 
chest,  and  a  few  earthen  vessels.  The  house  was  so 
poor,  so  ill-protected  from  the  weather,  and  of  such 
trifling  value,  that  the  miller  was  obliged  to  incur 
the  risk  of  letting  it  to  a  poor  tenant,  or  to  leave  it 
unoccupied. 

Madeleine  talked  with  Zabelle,  and  soon  perceived 
that  she  was  not  a  bad  woman,  and  that  she  would 
35 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

do  all  in  her  power  to  pay  the  rent.  She  had  some 
affection  for  the  waif,  but  she  was  so  accustomed  to 
see  him  suffer  and  to  suffer  herself  that  she  was  at 
first  more  surprised  than  pleased  by  the  pity  which 
the  rich  miller's  wife  showed  for  the  forlorn  child. 

At  last,  after  she  had  recovered  from  her  astonish- 
ment, and  understood  that  Madeleine  had  not  come 
to  ask  anything  of  her,  but  to  do  her  a  kindness,  she 
took  courage,  related  her  story,  which  was  like  that 
of  all  the  unfortunate,  and  thanked  her  warmly  for 
her  interest.  Madeleine  assured  her  that  she  would 
do  her  best  to  help  her,  but  begged  her  to  tell  no- 
body, acknowledging  that  she  was  not  her  own 
mistress  at  home,  and  could  only  afford  her  assis- 
tance in  secret. 

She  left  her  woolen  shawl  with  Zabelle,  and  ex- 
acted a  promise  from  her  that  she  would  cut  it  into 
a  coat  for  the  waif  that  same  evening,  and  not  allow 
the  pieces  to  be  seen  before  they  were  sewed  to- 
gether. She  saw,  indeed,  that  Zabelle  consented 
reluctantly,  thinking  the  shawl  very  convenient  for 
her  own  use,  and  so  she  was  obliged  to  tell  her  that 
she  would  do  no  more  for  her  unless  the  waif  were 
warmly  clothed  in  three  days'  time. 

"  Do  you  not  suppose,"  she  added,  *'  that  my 
36 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

mother-in-law,  who  is  so  wide-awake,  would  recog- 
nize my  shawl  on  your  shoulders?  Do  you  wish 
to  get  me  into  trouble?  You  may  count  upon  my 
helping  you  in  other  ways  if  you  keep  your  own 
counsel.  Now,  listen  to  me :  your  waif  has  the 
/ever,  and  he  will  die  if  you  do  not  take  good  care 
of  him." 

*'  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  said  Zabelle.  "  I  should  be 
very  sorry  to  lose  him,  because  he  has  the  best  heart 
in  the  world;  he  never  complains,  and  is  as  obedient 
as  if  he  belonged  to  a  respectable  family.  He  is  quite 
different  from  other  waifs,  who  are  ill-tempered  and 
unruly,  and  always  in  mischief." 

*'  That  is  only  because  they  are  rebuffed  and  ill- 
treated.  If  yours  is  good,  it  is  because  you  have  been 
kind  to  him,  you  may  be  sure." 

**  That  is  true,"  rejoined  Zabelle;  "children  are 
more  grateful  than  people  think,  and  though  this 
little  fellow  is  not  bright,  he  can  be  very  useful  at 
times.  Once,  when  I  was  ill  last  year,  and  he  was 
only  five  years  old,  he  took  as  good  care  of  me  as 
if  he  were  a  grown-up  person." 

"  Listen,"  said  the  miller's  wife:  **  you  must  send 
him  to  me  every  morning  and  evening,  at  the  hour 
when  I  give  soup  to  my  child.  I  shall  make  more 
3*  37 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

than  is  necessary,  and  the  waif  may  eat  what  is  left; 
nobody  will  pay  any  attention." 

"  Oh !  I  shall  not  dare  bring  him  to  you,  and  he 
will  never  have  enough  sense  to  know  the  right 
time  himself." 

"  Let  us  arrange  it  in  this  way.  When  the  soup  is 
ready,  I  will  put  my  distaff  on  the  bridge  over  the 
dam.  Look,  you  can  see  it  very  well  from  here. 
Then  you  must  send  the  child  over  with  a  sabot  in 
his  hand,  as  if  he  were  coming  to  get  a  light  for  the 
fire;  and  if  he  eats  my  soup,  you  will  have  all  yours 
to  yourself.     You  will  both  be  better  fed." 

"  That  will  do  very  well,"  answered  Zabelle.  "  I 
see  that  you  are  a  clever  woman,  and  that  I  am 
fortunate  in  coming  here.  I  was  very  much  afraid 
of  your  husband,  who  has  the  reput^ition  of  being  a 
hard  man,  and  if  I  could  have  gone  elsewhere  I 
should  not  have  taken  his  house,  especially  as  it  is  in 
wretched  repair,  and  the  rent  is  high.  But  I  see  that 
you  are  kind  to  the  poor,  and  will  help  me  to  bring 
up  my  waif.  Ah!  if  the  soup  could  only  cure  his 
fever!  It  would  be  a  great  misfortune  to  me  to  lose 
that  child!  He  brings  me  but  little  profit,  for  all 
that  I  receive  from  the  asylum  goes  for  his  support. 
Cut  I  love  him  as  if  he  were  my  own  child,  because 
38 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

I  know  that  he  is  good,  and  will  be  of  use  to  n:e 
later.  Have  you  noticed  how  well-grown  he  is  for 
his  age,  and  will  soon  be  able  to  work  ?  " 

Thus  Fran$;ois  the  Waif  was  reared  by  the  care  and 
kindness  of  Madeleine,  the  miller's  wife.  He  soon 
recovered  his  health,  for  he  was  strongly  built,  and 
any  rich  man  in  the  country  might  have  wished  for  a 
son  with  as  handsome  a  face  and  as  well-knit  a 
frame.  He  was  as  brave  as  a  man,  and  swam  in  the 
river  like  a  fish,  diving  even  under  the  mill-dam;  he 
feared  neither  fire  nor  water;  he  jumped  on  the 
wildest  colts  and  rode  them  without  a  halter  into  the 
pasture,  kicking  them  with  his  heels  to  keep  them  in 
the  right  path,  and  holding  on  to  their  manes  when 
they  leaped  the  ditches.  It  was  singular  that  he  did 
all  this  in  his  quiet,  easy  way,  without  saying  any- 
thing, or  changing  his  childlike  and  somewhat  sleepy 
expression. 

It  was  on  account  of  this  expression  that  he 
passed  for  a  fool;  but  it  is  none  the  less  true  that  if 
it  were  a  question  of  robbing  a  magpie's  nest  at  the 
top  of  a  lofty  poplar,  or  of  finding  a  cow  that  had 
strayed  far  from  home,  or  of  killing  a  thrush  with  a 
stone,  no  child  was  bolder,  more  adroit,  or  more  cer- 
tain of  success  than  he.  The  other  children  called 
39 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

it  luchj  which  is  supposed  to  be  the  portion  of  a 
waif  in  this  hard  world.  So  they  always  let  him 
take  the  first  part  in  dangerous  amusements. 

"  He  will  never  get  hurt,"  they  said,  ''because  he 
is  a  waif.  A  kernel  of  wheat  fears  the  havoc  of  the 
storm,  but  a  random  seed  never  dies." 

For  two  years  all  went  well.  Zabelle  found  means 
to  buy  a  few  sheep  and  goats,  though  no  one  knew 
how.  She  rendered  a  good  many  small  services  to 
the  mill,  and  Cadet  Blanchet,  the  miller,  was  induced 
to  make  some  repairs  in  her  roof,  which  leaked  in 
every  direction.  She  was  enabled  to  dress  herself 
and  her  waif  a  little  better,  and  looked  gradually  less 
poverty-stricken  than  on  her  arrival.  Madeleine's 
mother-in-law  made  some  harsh  comments  on  the 
disappearance  of  certain  articles,  and  on  the  quantity 
of  bread  consumed  in  the  house,  and  once  Made- 
leine was  obliged  to  plead  guilty  in  order  to  shield 
Zabelle  from  suspicion ;  but,  contrary  to  his  mother's 
expectation,  Cadet  Blanchet  was  hardly  angry  at  all, 
and  seemed  to  wink  at  what  his  wife  had  done. 

The  secret   of  Cadet  Blanchet's  compliance  was 

that  he  was  still  very  much  in  love  with  his  wife. 

Madeleine  was  pretty,  and  not  the  least  of  a  coquette; 

'  he  heard  her  praises  sung  everywhere.      Besides,  his 

40 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

affairs  were  prosperous,  and,  as  he  was  one  of  those 
men  who  are  cruel  only  when  they  are  in  dread  of 
calamity,  he  was  kinder  to  Madeleine  than  anybody 
could  have  supposed  possible.  This  roused  Mother 
Blanchet's  jealousy,  and  she  revenged  herself  by  petty 
annoyances,  which  Madeleine  bore  in  silence,  and 
without  complaining  to  her  husband. 

It  was  the  best  way  of  putting  an  end  to  them, 
and  no  woman  could  be  more  patient  and  reason- 
able in  this  respect  than  Madeleine.  But  they  say  in 
our  country  that  goodness  avails  less  in  the  end  than 
malice,  and  the  day  came  when  Madeleine  was  re- 
buked and  called  to  account  for  her  charities. 

It  was  a  year  when  the  grain  had  been  wasted  by 
hail,  and  an  overflow  of  the  river  had  spoiled  the 
hay.  Cadet  Blanchet  was  not  in  a  good  humor, 
and  one  day,  as  he  was  coming  back  from  market 
with  a  comrade  who  had  just  married  a  very  beauti- 
ful girl,  the  latter  said  to  him: 

"  You,  too,  were  not  to  be  pitied  in  four  day,  for 
your  Madelon  used  to  be  a  very  attractive  girl." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  my  day,  and  Madelon 
used  to  he  ?     Do  you  think  that  she  and  I  are  old  ? 
Madeleine  is  not  twenty  yet,  and  I  am  not  aware 
that  she  has  lost  her  looks." 
41 


FRANgOIS   THE  WAIF 

*'0h,  no,  I  do  not  say  so,"  replied  the  other. 
*'  Madeleine  is  certainly  still  good-looking;  but  you 
know  that  when  a  woman  marries  so  young  you 
cannot  expect  her  to  be  pretty  long.  After  she  has 
nursed  one  child,  she  is  already  worn ;  and  your  wife 
was  never  strong,  for  you  see  that  she  is  very  thin, 
and  has  lost  the  appearance  of  health.  Is  the  poor 
thing  ill  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  know  of.  Why  do  you  ask  me  ?  " 
"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  think  she  looks  sad,  as  if  she 
suffered  or  had  some  sorrow.  A  woman's  bloom  lasts 
no  longer  than  the  blossom  of  the  vine.  I  must  ex- 
pect to  see  my  wife  with  a  long  face  and  sober  ex- 
pression. And  we  men  are  only  in  love  with  our 
wives  while  we  are  jealous  of  them.  They  exasper- 
ate us;  we  scold  them  and  beat  them  sometimes; 
they  are  distressed  and  weep;  they  stay  at  home  and 
are  afraid  of  us;  then  they  are  bored  and  care  no 
more  about  us.  But  we  are  happy,  for  we  are  the 
masters.  And  yet,  one  fine  morning,  lo  and  behold, 
a  man  sees  that  if  nobody  wants  his  wife,  it  is  be- 
cause she  has  grown  ugly;  so  he  loves  her  no  longer, 
and  goes  to  court  his  neighbor's.  It  is  his  fate.  Good 
evening,  Cadet  Blanchet;  you  kissed  my  wife  rather 
too  warmly  to-night;  I  took  note  of  it,  though  I  said 
42 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

nothing.  1  tell  you  this  to  let  you  know  that  she  and 
I  shall  not  quarrel  over  it,  and  that  I  shall  try  not  to 
make  her  as  melancholy  as  yours,  because  I  know  my 
own  character.  If  I  am  ever  jealous,  I  shall  be  cruel, 
and  when  I  have  no  more  occasion  for  jealousy,  I 
shall  be  still  worse  perhaps." 

A  good  disposition  profits  by  a  good  lesson ;  but, 
though  active  and  intelligent.  Cadet  Blanchet  was 
too  arrogant  to  keep  his  self-possession.  He  came 
home  with  his  head  high  and  his  eye  bloodshot. 
He  looked  at  Madeleine  as  he  had  not  done  for  a 
long  time,  and  perceived  that  she  was  pale  and  al- 
tered. He  asked  her  if  she  were  ill,  so  rudely  that  she 
turned  still  paler,  and  answered  in  a  faint  voice  that 
she  was  quite  well.  He  took  offense,  Heaven  knows 
why,  and  sat  down  to  the  table,  desirous  of  seeking 
a  quarrel.  He  had  not  long  to  wait  for  an  oppor- 
tunity. They  talked  of  the  dearness  of  wheat,  and 
Mother  Blanchet  remarked,  as  she  did  every  even- 
ing, that  too  much  bread  was  eaten  in  the  house. 
Madeleine  was  silent.  Cadet  Blanchet  wanted  to 
make  her  responsible  for  the  waste,  and  the  old  wo- 
man declared  that  she  had  caught  the  waif  carrying 
away  half  a  loaf  that  very  morning.  Madeleine 
should  have  been  indignant  and  held  her  own,  but 
43 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

she  could  only  cry.  Blanchet  thought  of  what  his 
companion  had  said  to  him,  and  was  still  more  irri- 
tated ;  and  so  it  happened  that  from  that  day  on, 
explain  it  as  you  can,  he  no  longer  loved  his  wife, 
but  made  her  wretched. 


44 


CHAPTER    II 

HE  made  her  wretched,  and  as  he  had  never 
made  her  happy  she  was  doubly  unlucky  in 
her  marriage.  She  had  allowed  herself  to  be  married, 
at  sixteen,  to  this  rough,  red-faced  man,  who  drank 
deeply  on  Sunday,  was  in  a  fury  all  Monday,  in  bad 
spirits  on  Tuesday,  and  worked  like  a  horse  all  the 
rest  of  the  week  to  make  up  for  lost  time,  for  he  was 
avaricious,  and  had  no  leisure  to  think  of  his  wife. 
He  was  less  ill-tempered  on  Saturday,  because  he  had 
finished  his  work,  and  expected  to  amuse  himself 
next  day.  But  a  single  day  of  good  humor  in  a  week 
is  not  enough,  and  Madeleine  had  no  pleasure  in 
seeing  him  merry,  because  she  knew  that  he  would 
be  sure  to  come  home  the  next  evening  in  a  passion. 
But  as  she  was  young  and  pretty,  and  so  gentle 
that  it  was  impossible  to  be  angry  long  with  her,  there 
were  still  intervals  when  he  was  kind  and  just,  and 
when  he  took  her  hands  in  his  and  said: 
45 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

'*  Madeleine,  you  are  a  good  wife,  and  I  think  that 
you  were  made  expressly  for  me.  If  I  had  married  a 
coquette,  such  as  so  many  women  are,  I  should  kill 
her,  or  I  should  drown  myself  under  my  own  mill- 
wheel.  But  I  know  that  you  are  well-behaved  and 
industrious,  and  that  you  are  worth  your  weight 
in  gold." 

After  four  years  of  married  life,  however,  his  love 
had  quite  gone;  he  had  no  more  kind  words  for  her, 
and  was  enraged  that  she  made  no  answer  to  his 
abuse.  What  answer  could  she  make?  She  knew 
that  her  husband  was  unjust,  and  was  unwilling  to 
reproach  him  for  it,  for  she  considered  it  her  duty  to 
respect  the  master  whom  she  had  never  been  able 
to  love. 

Mother  Blanchet  was  pleased  to  see  her  son  master 
of  the  house  again,  as  she  said ;  just  as  if  it  had  ever 
been  otherwise.  She  hated  her  daughter-in-law,  be- 
cause she  knew  her  to  be  better  than  herself.  When 
she  could  find  no  other  cause  of  complaint,  she  reviled 
her  for  not  being  strong,  for  coughing  all  winter,  and 
for  having  only  one  child.  She  despised  her  for  this, 
for  knowing  how  to  read  and  write,  and  for  reading 
prayers  in  a  corner  of  the  orchard,  instead  of  gossip- 
ing and  chattering  with  the  dames  of  the  vicinity. 

46 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

Madeleine  placed  her  soul  in  God's  hands,  and 
thinking  lamentations  useless,  she  bore  her  affliction 
as  if  it  were  her  due.  She  withdrew  her  heart  from 
this  earth,  and  often  dreamed  of  paradise,  as  if  she 
wished  to  die.  Still,  she  was  careful  of  her  health, 
and  armed  herself  with  courage,  because  she  knew 
that  her  child  could  only  be  happy  through  her,  and 
she  accepted  everything  for  the  sake  of  the  love  she 
bore  him. 

Though  she  could  not  feel  any  great  affection  for 
Zabelle,  she  was  still  fond  of  her,  because  this  woman, 
who  was  half  good  and  half  selfish,  continued  to  do 
her  best  for  the  poor  waif;  and  Madeleine,  who 
saw  how  people  deteriorate  who  think  of  themselves 
alone,  was  inclined  to  esteem  only  those  who  thought 
sometimes  of  others.  As  she  was  the  only  person  in 
the  neighborhood  who  took  no  care  of  herself,  she 
was  entirely  isolated  and  very  sorrowful,  without  fully 
understanding  the  cause  of  her  grief. 

Little  by  little,  however,  she  observed  that  the  waif, 
who  was  then  ten  years  old,  began  to  think  as  she  did. 
When  I  say  thinh^  I  mean  you  to  understand  that  she 
judged  from  his  behavior;  for  there  was  no  more  sense 
in  the  poor  child's  words  than  on  the  first  day  she  had 
spoken  with  him.  He  could  not  express  himself,  and 
47 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

when  people  tried  to  make  him  talk  they  were  sure 
to  interrupt  him  immediately,  for  he  knew  nothing 
about  anything.  But  if  he  were  needed  to  run  an 
errand,  he  was  always  ready,  and  when  it  was  an 
errand  for  Madeleine,  he  ran  before  she  could  ask 
him.  He  looked  as  if  he  had  not  understood  the 
commission,  but  he  executed  it  so  swiftly  and  well 
that  even  she  was  amazed. 

One  day,  as  he  was  carrying  little  Jeannie  in  his 
arms,  and  allowing  him  to  pull  his  hair  for  his  amuse- 
ment, Madeleine  caught  the  child  from  him  with  some 
slight  irritation,  saying  half  involuntarily: 

''  Francois,  if  you  begin  now  by  suffering  all  the 
whims  of  other  people,  there  is  no  knowing  where 
they  will  stop." 

To  her  great  surprise,  Franpois  answered: 
"  I  should  rather  suffer  evil  than  return  it." 
Madeleine  was  astonished,  and  gazed  into  the  eyes 
of  the  waif,  where  she  saw  something  she  had  never 
observed  in  the  eyes  even  of  the  most  honest  persons 
she  knew ;  something  so  kind,  and  yet  so  decided,  that 
she  was  quite  bewildered.  She  sat  down  on  the  grass 
with  her  child  on  her  knees,  and  made  the  waif  sit 
on  the  edge  of  her  dress,  without  daring  to  speak  to 
him.     She  could  scarcely  understand  why  she  was 


FRANgOIS   THE  WAIF 

overcome  with  fear  and  shame  that  she  had  often 
jested  with  this  child  for  being  so  foolish.  It  is  true 
that  she  had  always  done  so  with  extreme  gentleness, 
and  perhaps  she  had  pitied  and  loved  him  the  more  for 
his  stupidity;  but  now  she  fancied  that  he  had  always 
understood  her  ridicule,  and  had  been  pained  by  it 
without  being  able  to  say  anything  in  return. 

She  soon  forgot  this  incident,  for  a  short  time  after- 
ward her  husband,  who  had  become  infatuated  with 
a  disreputable  woman  in  the  neighborhood,  under- 
took to  hate  his  wife  in  good  earnest,  and  to  forbid 
her  to  allow  Zabelle  and  her  boy  to  enter  the  mill. 
Madeleine  fell  to  thinking  of  still  more  secret  means 
of  aiding  them,  and  warned  Zabelle,  telling  her  that 
she  should  pretend  to  neglect  her  for  a  time. 

Zabelle  was  very  much  in  awe  of  the  miller,  and 
had  not  Madeleine's  power  of  endurance  for  the  love 
of  others.  She  argued  to  herself  that  the  miller  was 
the  master,  and  could  turn  her  out  of  doors,  or  in- 
crease her  rent,  and  that  Madeleine  would  be  unable 
to  prevent  it.  She  reflected  also  that  if  she  submitted 
to  Mother  Blanchet,  she  would  establish  herself  in  the 
good  graces  of  the  old  woman,  whose  protection 
would  be  more  useful  to  her  than  that  of  the  young 
wife.  So  she  went  to  the  miller's  mother,  and  con- 
4  49 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

fessed  that  she  had  received  help  from  her  daughter- 
in-law,  declaring  that  she  had  done  so  against  her 
will,  and  only  out  of  pity  for  the  waif,  whom  she  had 
no  means  of  feeding.  The  old  woman  detested  the 
waif,  though  for  no  reason  except  that  Madeleine 
took  an  interest  in  him.  She  advised  Zabelle  to  rid 
herself  of  him,  and  promised  her  at  this  price  to  ob- 
tain six  months'  credit  on  her  rent.  The  morrow  of 
Saint  Martin's  day  had  come  round,  and  as  the  year 
had  been  a  hard  one,  Zabelle  was  out  of  money,  and 
Madeleine  was  so  closely  watched  that  for  some  time 
she  had  been  unable  to  give  her  any.  Zabelle  boldly 
promised  to  take  back  the  waif  to  the  foundling  asy- 
lum the  next  day. 

She  had  no  sooner  given  her  word  than  she  re- 
pented of  it,  and  at  the  sight  of  little  Franp ois  sleep- 
ing on  his  wretched  pallet,  her  heart  was  as  heavy 
as  if  she  were  about  to  commit  a  mortal  sin.  She 
could  not  sleep,  and  before  dawn  Mother  Blanchet 
entered  the  hovel. 

"  Come,  get  up,  Zabeau,"  she  said.  "  You  gave 
me  your  promise  and  you  must  keep  it.  It  you  wait 
to  speak  to  my  daughter-in-law,  you  will  never  do 
anything,  but  you  must  let  the  boy  go,  in  her  interest 
as  well  as  your  own,  you  see.  My  son  has  taken  a 
50 


FRANCOIS   THE   WAIF 

dislike  to  him  on  account  of  his  stupidity  and  greed- 
iness; my  daughter-in-law  has  pampered  him  too 
much,  and  I  am  sure  that  he  is  a  thief  already.  All 
foundlings  are  thieves  from  their  birth,  and  it  is  mere 
folly  to  expect  anything  of  such  brats.  This  one  will 
be  the  cause  of  your  being  driven  away  from  here, 
and  will  ruin  your  reputation ;  he  will  furnish  my  son 
with  a  reason  for  beating  his  wife  every  day,  and  in 
the  end,  when  he  is  tall  and  strong,  he  will  become 
a  highwayman,  and  will  bring  you  to  shame.  Come, 
come,  you  must  start!  Take  him  through  the  fields 
as  far  as  Corley,  and  there  the  stage-coach  passes  at 
eight  o'clock.  Get  in  with  him,  and  you  will  reach 
Chateauroux,  at  noon,  at  the  latest.  You  can  come 
back  this  evening;  there  is  a  piece  of  money  for  your 
journey,  and  you  will  have  enough  left  over  to  amuse 
yourself  with  in  town." 

Zabelle  woke  the  child,  dressed  him  in  his  best, 
made  a  bundle  of  the  rest  of  his  clothes,  and,  taking 
his  hand,  started  off  with  him  by  the  light  of  the 
moon. 

As  she  walked  along  and  the  day  broke,  her  heart 

failed  her;   she  could  neither  hasten  her  steps,  nor 

speak,  and  when  she  came  to  the  highroad,  she  sat 

down  on  the  side  of  a  ditch,  more  dead  than  alive. 

1 1 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

The  stage-coach  was  approaching,   and  they  had 
arrived  only  just  in  time. 

The  waif  was  not  in  the  habit  of  worrying,  and 
thus  far  he  had  followed  his  mother  without  suspi- 
cion; but  when  he  saw  a  huge  carriage  bowling 
toward  him  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  the  noise  it 
made  frightened  him,  and  he  tried  to  pull  Zabelle 
back  into  the  meadow  which  they  had  just  left  to 
join  the  highroad.  Zabelle  thought  that  he  under- 
stood his  fate,  and  said: 

"  Come,  poor  Francois,  you  really  must!  " 
Francois  was  still  more  frightened.  He  thought 
that  the  stage-coach  was  an  enormous  animal  run- 
ning after  him  to  devour  him.  He  who  was  so  bold 
in  meeting  all  the  dangers  which  he  knew  lost  his 
head,  and  rushed  back  screaming  into  the  meadow. 
Zabelle  ran  after  him ;  but  when  she  saw  him  pale  as 
death,  her  courage  deserted  her.  She  followed  him 
all  across  the  meadow,  and  allowed  the  stage-coach 
to  go  by. 


52 


CHAPTER    III 

^T^HEY  returned  by  the  same  road  they  had 
1  come,  until  they  had  gone  half  the  distance, 
and  then  they  stopped  to  rest.  Zabelle  was  alarmed 
to  see  that  the  child  trembled  from  head  to  foot,  and 
his  heart  beat  so  violently  as  to  agitate  his  poor  old 
shirt.  She  made  him  sit  down,  and  attempted  to 
comfort  him,  but  she  did  not  know  what  she  was 
saying,  and  Franfois  was  not  in  a  state  to  guess  her 
meaning.  She  drew  out  a  bit  of  bread  from  her 
basket  and  tried  to  persuade  him  to  eat  it;  but  he 
had  no  desire  for  food,  and  they  sat  on  for  a  long 
time  in  silence. 

At  last,  Zabelle,  who  was  in  the  habit  of  recurring 
to  her  first  thoughts,  was  ashamed  of  her  weakness, 
and  said  to  herself  that  she  would  be  lost  if  she  ap- 
peared again  at  the  mill  with  the  child.  Another 
stage  was  to  pass  toward  noon,  and  she  decided  to 
stay  where  they  were  until  the  moment  necessary 
4*  53 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

for  returning  to  the  highroad;  but  as  Fran9ois  was 
so  terrified  that  he  had  lost  the  little  sense  he  pos- 
sessed, and  as  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  was  cap- 
able of  resisting  her  will,  she  tried  to  tempt  him 
with  the  attractions  of  the  horse's  bells,  the  noise 
of  the  wheels,  and  the  speed  of  the  great  vehicle. 

In  her  efforts  to  inspire  him  with  confidence,  she 
said  more  than  she  intended;  perhaps  her  repentance 
urged  her  to  speak,  in  spite  of  herself,  or  it  may  be 
that  when  Francois  woke  that  morning  he  had  heard 
certain  words  of  Mother  Blanchet,  which  now  re- 
turned to  his  mind;  or  else  his  poor  wits  cleared 
suddenly  at  the  approach  of  calamity;  at  all  events, 
he  began  to  say,  with  the  same  expression  in  his 
eyes  which  had  once  astonished  and  almost  startled 
Madeleine : 

"  Mother,  you  want  to  send  me  away  from  you  ! 
You  want  to  take  me  far  off  from  here  and  leave  me." 

Then  he  remembered  the  word  asylum,  spoken 
several  times  in  his  hearing.  He  had  no  idea  what 
an  asylum  was,  but  it  seemed  to  him  more  horrible 
than  the  stage-coach,  and  he  cried  with  a  shudder: 

''  You  want  to  put  me  in  the  asylum! " 

Zabelle  had  gone  too  far  to  retreat.  She  believed 
that  the  child  knew  more  of  her  intentions  than  he 
54 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

really  did,  and  without  reflecting  how  easy  it  would 
be  to  deceive  him  and  rid  herself  of  him  by  stratagem, 
she  undertook  to  explain  the  truth  to  him,  and  to 
make  him  understand  that  he  would  be  much  happier 
at  the  asylum  than  with  her,  that  he  would  be  better 
cared  for  there,  would  learn  to  work,  and  would  be 
placed  for  a  time  in  the  charge  of  some  woman  less 
poor  than  herself,  who  would  be  a  mother  to  him. 

This  attempted  consolation  put  the  finishing  touch 
to  the  waifs  despair.  A  strange  and  unknown  future 
inspired  him  with  more  terror  than  all  Zabelle  could 
say  of  the  hardships  of  a  life  with  her.  Besides,  he 
loved  with  all  his  might  this  ungrateful  mother,  who 
cared  less  for  him  than  for  herself.  He  loved  another, 
too,  almost  as  much  as  Zabelle,  and  she  was  Made- 
leine; only  he  did  not  know  that  he  loved  her,  and 
did  not  speak  of  her.  He  threw  himself  sobbing  on 
the  ground,  tore  up  the  grass  with  his  hands  and  flung 
it  over  his  face,  as  if  he  had  fallen  in  mortal  agony. 
When  Zabelle,  in  her  distress  and  impatience,  tried  to 
make  him  get  up  by  force  and  threats,  he  beat  his 
head  so  hard  against  the  stones  that  he  was  covered 
with  blood,  and  she  thought  he  was  about  to  kill 
himself. 

It  pleased  God  that  Madeleine  Blanchet  should  pass 
55 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

by  at  that  moment.  She  had  heard  nothing  of  the  de- 
parture of  Zabelle  and  the  child,  and  was  coming  home 
from  Presles,  where  she  had  carried  back  some  wool 
to  a  lady,  who  had  given  it  to  her  to  spin  very  fine, 
as  she  was  considered  the  best  spinster  far  and  wide. 
She  had  received  her  payment,  and  was  returning  to 
the  mill  with  ten  crowns  in  her  pocket.  She  was  go- 
ing to  cross  the  river  on  one  of  those  little  pjank 
bridges  on  a  level  with  the  surface  of  the  water, 
which  are  often  to  be  met  with  in  that  part  of  the 
country,  when  she  heard  heart-piercing  shrieks, 
and  recognized  at  once  the  voice  of  the  poor  waif. 
She  flew  in  the  direction  of  the  cries,  and  saw  the 
child,  bathed  in  blood,  struggling  in  Zabelle's  arms. 
She  could  not  understand  it  at  first;  for  it  looked  as 
if  Zabelle  had  cruelly  struck  him,  and  were  trying  to 
shake  him  off.  This  seemed  the  more  probable,  as 
Francois,  on  catching  sight  of  her,  rushed  toward  her, 
twined  his  arms  about  her  like  a  little  snake,  and 
clung  to  her  skirts,  screaming : 

''  Madame  Blanchet,  Madame  Blanchet,  save  me! " 

Zabelle  was  tall  and  strong,  and  Madeleine  was 

small  and  slight  as  a  reed.     Still,  she  was  not  afraid, 

and,  imagining  that  Zabelle  had  gone  crazy,  and  was 

going  to  murder  the  child,  she  placed  herself  in  front 

56 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

of  him,  resolved  to  protect  him  or  to  die  while  he 
was  making  his  escape. 

A  few  words,  however,  sufficed  for  an  explanation. 
Zabelle,  who  was  more  grieved  than  angry,  told  the 
story,  and  Fran<;:ois,  who  at  last  took  in  all  the  sad- 
ness of  his  lot,  managed  this  time  to  profit  by  what 
he  heard,  with  more  cleverness  than  he  had  ever  been 
supposed  to  possess.  After  Zabelle  had  finished,  he 
kept  fast  hold  of  the  miller's  wife,  saying: 

**  Don't  send  me  away,  don't  let  me  be  sent 
away." 

And  he  went  to  and  fro  between  Zabelle,  who  was 
crying,  and  the  miller's  wife,  who  was  crying  still 
harder,  repeating  all  kinds  of  words  and  prayers, 
which  scarcely  seemed  to  come  from  his  lips,  for 
Ihis  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  been  able  to 
express  himself. 

"  O  my  mother,  my  darling  mother ! "  said  he  to 
Zabelle,  "  why  do  you  want  me  to  leave  you?  Do 
you  want  me  to  die  of  grief  and  never  see  you  again  ? 
What  have  I  done,  that  you  no  longer  love  me? 
Have  I  not  always  obeyed  you?  Have  I  done  any 
harm?  I  have  always  taken  good  care  of  our  ani- 
mals— you  told  me  so  yourself;  and  when  you  kissed 
me  every  evening,  you  said  I  was  your  child,  and  you 
57 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

never  said  that  you  were  not  my  mother!  Keep  me, 
mother,  keep  me;  I  am  praying  to  you  as  I  pray  to 
God!  I  shall  always  take  care  of  you;  I  shall  always 
work  for  you;  if  you  are  not  satisfied  with  me,  you 
may  beat  me,  and  I  shall  not  mind;  but  do  not  send 
me  away  until  I  have  done  something  wrong." 

Then  he  went  to  Madeleine,  and  said: 

*'  Madame  Blanchet,  take  pity  on  me.  Tell  my 
mother  to  keep  me.  I  shall  never  go  to  your  house, 
since  it  is  forbidden,  and  if  you  want  to  give  me  any- 
thing, I  shall  know  that  I  must  not  take  it.  I  shall 
speak  to  Master  Cadet  Blanchet,  and  tell  him  to  beat 
me  and  not  to  scold  you  on  my  account.  When  you 
go  into  the  fields,  I  shall  always  go  with  you  to  carry 
your  little  boy,  and  amuse  him  all  day.  I  shall  do 
all  you  tell  me,  and  if  I  do  any  wrong,  you  need  no 
longer  love  me.  But  do  not  let  me  be  sent  away;  I  do 
not  want  to  go;  I  should  rather  jump  into  the  river." 

Poor  Francois  looked  at  the  river,  and  ran  so  near 
it,  that  they  saw  his  life  hung  by  a  thread,  and  that 
a  single  word  of  refusal  would  be  enough  to  make 
him  drown  himself.  Madeleine  pleaded  for  the  child^ 
and  Zabelle  was  dying  to  listen  to  her.  Now  that  she 
was  near  the  mill,  matters  looked  differently. 

"Well,  I  will  keep  you,  you  naughty  child,"  said 

58 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

she;  "  but  I  shall  be  on  the  road  to-morrow,  begging 
my  bread  because  of  you.  You  are  too  stupid  to 
know  it  is  your  fault  that  I  shall  be  reduced  to  such 
a  condition,  and  this  is  what  I  have  gained  by  bur- 
dening myself  with  a  child  who  is  no  good  to  me, 
and  does  not  even  pay  for  the  bread  he  eats." 

*'  You  have  said  enough,  Zabelle,"  said  the  miller's 
wife,  taking  the  child  in  her  arms  to  lift  him  from  the 
ground,  although  he  was  very  heavy.  ''There  are 
ten  crowns  for  you  to  pay  your  rent  with,  or  to  move 
elsewhere,  if  my  husband  persists  in  driving  you  away 
from  here.  It  is  my  own  money — money  that  I 
have  earned  myself.  I  know  that  it  will  be  required 
of  me,  but  no  matter.  They  may  kill  me  if  they 
want ;  I  buy  this  child,  he  is  mine,  he  is  yours  no 
longer.  You  do  not  deserve  to  keep  a  child  with 
such  a  warm  heart,  and  who  loves  you  so  much. 
I  shall  be  his  mother,  and  my  family  must  submit.  I 
am  willing  to  suffer  everything  for  my  children.  I 
could  be  cut  in  pieces  for  my  Jeannie,  and  I  could 
endure  as  much  for  this  child,  too.  Come,  poor 
Francois,  you  are  no  longer  a  waif,  do  you  hear? 
You  have  a  mother,  and  you  can  love  her  as  much  as 
you  choose,  for  she  will  love  you  with  her  whole 
heart  in  return." 

59 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

Madeleine  said  all  this  without  being  perfectly 
aware  of  what  she  was  saying.  She  whose  dis- 
position was  so  gentle  was  now  highly  excited.  Her 
heart  rebelled  against  Zabelle,  and  she  was  really 
angry  with  her.  Francois  had  thrown  his  arms 
round  the  neck  of  the  miller's  wife,  and  clasped  her 
so  tight  that  she  lost  her  breath;  and  at  the  same 
time  her  cap  and  neckerchief  were  stained  with 
blood,  for  his  head  was  cut  in  several  places. 

Madeleine  was  so  deeply  affected,  and  was  filled 
with  so  much  pity,  dismay,  sorrow,  and  determina- 
tion at  once,  that  she  set  out  to  walk  toward  the 
mill  with  as  much  courage  as  a  soldier  advancing 
under  fire.  Without  considering  that  the  child  was 
heavy,  and  she  herself  so  weak  that  she  could  hardly 
carry  her  small  Jeannie,  she  attempted  to  cross  the 
unsteady  little  bridge  that  sank  under  her  weight. 
When  she  reached  the  middle,  she  stopped.  The 
child  was  so  heavy  that  she  swerved  slightly,  and 
drops  of  perspiration  started  from  her  forehead.  She 
felt  as  if  she  should  fall  from  weakness,  when  sud- 
denly she  called  to  mind  a  beautiful  and  marvelous 
story  that  she  had  read  the  evening  before  in  an  old 
volume  of  the  *^  Lives  of  the  Saints."  It  was  the 
story  of  Saint  Christopher,  who  carried  the  child 
60 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

Jesus  across  the  river,  and  found  him  so  heavy  that 
he  stopped  in  fear.  She  looked  dow^n  at  the  waif 
His  eyes  had  rolled  back  in  his  head,  and  his  arms 
had  relaxed  their  hold.  The  poor  child  had  either 
undergone  too  much  emotion,  or  he  had  lost  too 
much  blood,  and  had  fainted. 


6i 


CHAPTER    IV 

WHEN  Zabelle  saw  him  thus,  she  thought  he 
was  dead.  All  her  love  for  him  returned, 
and  with  no  more  thought  of  the  miller  or  his 
wicked  old  mother,  she  seized  the  child  from  Made- 
leine, and  began  to  kiss  him,  with  sobs  and  cries. 
They  sat  down  beside  the  river,  and,  laying  him  across 
their  knees,  they  washed  his  wounds  and  stanched 
the  blood  with  their  handkerchiefs;  but  they  had 
nothing  with  which  to  bring  him  to.  Madeleine 
warmed  his  head  against  her  bosom,  and  breathed 
on  his  face  and  into  his  mouth  as  people  do  with 
the  drowned.  This  revived  him,  and  as  soon  as  he 
opened  his  eyes  and  saw  what  care  they  were  taking 
of  him,  he  kissed  Madeleine  and  Zabelle,  one  after 
the  other,  so  passionately  that  they  were  obliged  to 
check  him,  fearing  that  he  might  faint  again. 

'*  Come,  come,"  said  Zabelle,  "  we  must  go  home. 
No,  I  can  never,  never  leave  that  child;  I  see  now, 
62 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

and  I  shall  never  think  of  it  again.  I  shall  keep 
your  ten  crowns,  Madeleine,  so  I  can  pay  my  rent 
to-night  if  I  am  forced  to  do  so.  Do  not  tell  about 
it;  I  shall  go  to-morrow  to  the  lady  in  Presles,  so 
that  she  may  not  inform  against  you,  and  she  can 
say,  in  case  of  need,  that  she  has  not  as  yet  given 
you  the  price  of  your  spinning.  In  this  way  we 
shall  gain  time,  and  I  shall  try  so  hard  that,  even  if  I 
have  to  beg  for  it,  I  shall  succeed  in  paying  my  debt 
to  you,  so  that  you  need  not  suffer  on  my  account. 
You  cannot  take  this  child  to  the  mill;  your  hus- 
band would  kill  him.  Leave  him  to  me;  I  swear  to 
you  that  I  shall  take  as  good  care  of  him  as  before, 
and  if  we  are  tormented  any  further,  we  can  think 
of  something  else." 

It  came  to  pass  that  the  waifs  return  was  effected 
without  disturbance,  and  without  exciting  attention ; 
for  it  happened  that  Mother  Blanchet  had  just  fallen 
ill  of  a  stroke  of  apoplexy,  without  having  had  an 
opportunity  of  telling  her  son  what  she  had  exacted 
from  Zabelle  about  the  waif,  and  Master  Blanchet 
sent  in  all  haste  for  Zabelle  to  come  and  help  in  the 
household,  while  Madeleine  and  the  servant  were 
taking  care  of  his  mother.  For  three  days  every- 
thing was  in  confusion  at  the  mill.     Madeleine  did 

63 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

not  spare  herself,  and  watched  for  three  nights  at 
the  bedside  of  her  husband's  mother,  who  died  in 
her  arms. 

This  blow  allayed  the  miller's  bad  temper  for  some 
time.  He  had  loved  his  mother  as  much  as  he  was 
capable  of  loving,  and  his  vanity  was  concerned  in 
making  as  fine  a  funeral  for  her  as  his  means  allowed. 
He  forgot  his  mistress  for  the  required  time,  and  with 
pretended  generosity  distributed  his  dead  mother's 
clothes  to  the  poor  neighbors.  Zabelle  had  her 
share  of  the  alms,  and  the  waif  received  a  franc 
piece,  because  Blanchet  remembered  that  once,  when 
they  were  in  urgent  need  of  leeches  for  the  sick 
woman,  and  everybody  was  running  futilely  hither 
and  thither  to  look  for  them,  the  waif  went  off, 
without  saying  a  word,  to  fish  some  out  of  a  pool 
where  he  knew  they  were,  and  brought  them  back 
in  less  time  than  it  took  the  others  to  start  out  for 
them. 

So  Cadet  Blanchet  gradually  forgot  his  dislike,  and 
nobody  at  the  mill  knew  of  Zabelle's  freak  of  send- 
ing back  the  waif  to  the  asylum.  The  question  of 
Madeleine's  ten  crowns  came  up  later,  for  the  miller 
did  not  neglect  to  make  Zabelle  pay  the  rent  for  her 
wretched  cottage.     Madeleine  said  that  she  had  lost 

64 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

them  as  she  ran  home  through  the  fields,  on  hearing 
of  her  mother-in-law's  accident.  Blanchet  made  a 
long  search  for  them  and  scolded  a  great  deal,  but 
he  never  found  out  the  use  to  which  the  money  had 
been  put,  and  Zabelle  was  not  suspected. 

After  his  mother's  death,  Blanchet's  disposition 
changed  little  by  little,  though  not  for  the  better. 
He  found  life  still  more  tedious  at  home,  was  less 
observant  of  what  went  on,  and  less  niggardly  in 
his  expenditure.  He  no  longer  earned  anything,  and, 
in  proportion  as  he  grew  fat,  led  a  disorderly  life, 
and  cared  no  more  for  his  work.  He  looked  to  make 
his  profit  by  dishonest  bargains  and  unfair  dealings, 
which  would  have  enriched  him,  if  he  had  not  spent 
on  one  hand  what  he  gained  on  the  other.  His 
mistress  acquired  more  ascendency  over  him  every 
day.  She  took  him  with  her  to  fairs  and  feasts,  in- 
duced him  to  engage  in  petty  trickeries,  and  spend 
his  time  at  the  tavern.  He  learned  how  to  gamble, 
and  was  often  lucky;  but  it  would  have  been  better 
for  him  to  lose  always  than  acquire  this  unfortunate 
taste;  for  his  dissipations  threw  him  entirely  off  his 
balance,  and  at  the  most  trifling  loss,  he  became  furi- 
ous with  himself,  and  ill-tempered  toward  everybody 
else. 

s  65 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

While  he  was  leading  this  wretched  life,  his  wife, 
always  wise  and  good,  governed  the  house  and  ten- 
derly reared  their  only  child.  But  she  thought  herself 
doubly  a  mother,  for  she  loved  and  watched  over  the 
waif  almost  as  much  as  if  he  were  her  own.  As  her 
husband  became  more  dissolute,  she  was  less  miser- 
able and  more  her  own  mistress.  In  the  beginning 
of  his  licentious  career  he  was  still  very  churlish,  be- 
cause he  dreaded  reproaches,  and  wished  to  hold  his 
wife  in  a  state  of  fear  and  subjection.  When  he  saw 
that  she  was  by  nature  an  enemy  to  strife,  and  showed 
no  jealousy,  he  made  up  his  mind  to  leave  her  in  peace. 
As  his  mother  was  no  longer  there  to  stir  him  up 
against  her,  he  was  obliged  to  recognize  that  no  other 
woman  was  as  thrifty  as  Madeleine.  He  grew  accus- 
tomed to  spend  whole  weeks  away  from  home,  and 
whenever  he  came  back  in  the  mood  for  a  quarrel, 
he  met  with  a  mute  patience  that  turned  away  his 
wrath,  and  he  was  first  astonished  and  ended  by  go- 
ing to  sleep.  So  finally  he  came  to  see  his  wife  only 
when  he  was  tired  and  in  need  of  rest. 

Madeleine  must  have  been  a  very  Christian  woman 
to  live  thus  alone  with  an  old  servant  and  two  chil- 
dren, and  perhaps  she  was  a  still  better  Christian  than 
if  she  had  been  a  nun.  God  had  given  her  the  great 
66 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

privilege  of  learning  to  read,  and  of  understanding 
what  she  read.  Yet  she  always  read  the  same 
thing,  for  she  possessed  only  two  books,  the  Holy 
Gospel  and  an  abbreviated  copy  of  the  ''Lives  of  the 
Saints."  The  Gospel  sanctified  her,  and  saddened  her 
to  tears,  when  she  read  alone  in  the  evening  beside 
her  son's  bed.  The  ''  Lives  of  the  Saints"  produced 
a  different  effect  upon  her ;  it  was  just  as  when  idle 
people  read  stories  and  excite  themselves  over  dreams 
and  illusions.  These  beautiful  tales  inspired  her  with 
courage  and  even  gaiety.  Sometimes,  out  in  the  fields, 
the  waif  saw  her  smile  and  flush,  when  she  had  her 
book  in  her  lap.  He  wondered  at  it,  and  found  it  hard 
to  understand  how  the  stories  which  she  told  him, 
with  some  little  alteration  in  order  to  adapt  them  to 
his  capacity  (and  also  perhaps  because  she  could  not 
perfectly  grasp  them  from  beginning  to  end),  could 
come  from  that  thing  which  she  called  her  book.  He 
wanted  to  read,  too,  and  learned  so  quickly  and  well 
that  she  was  amazed,  and  in  his  turn  he  was  able  to 
teach  little  Jeannie.  When  Francois  was  old  enough 
to  make  his  first  communion,  Madeleine  helped  him 
with  his  catechism,  and  the  parish  priest  was  de- 
lighted with  the  intelligence  and  excellent  memory 
of  this  child,  who  had  always  passed  for  a  simpleton, 

67 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

because  he  was  very  shy  and  never  had  anything 
to  say. 

After  his  first  communion,  and  he  was  old  enough 
to  be  hired  out,  Zabelle  was  pleased  to  have  him 
engaged  as  servant  at  the  mill ;  and  Master  Blanchet 
made  no  opposition,  because  it  was  plain  to  all  that 
the  waif  was  a  good  boy,  very  industrious  and  oblig- 
ing, and  stronger,  more  alert  and  sensible  than  the 
other  children  of  his  age.  Then,  too,  he  was  satisfied 
with  ten  crowns  for  wages,  and  it  was  an  economical 
arrangement  for  the  miller.  Francois  was  very  happy 
to  be  entirely  in  the  service  of  Madeleine  and  the  dear 
little  Jeannie  he  loved  so  much,  and  when  he  found 
that  Zabelle  could  pay  for  her  farm  with  his  earnings, 
and  thus  be  relieved  of  her  most  besetting  care,  he 
thought  himself  as  rich  as  a  king. 

Unfortunately,  poor  Zabelle  could  not  long  enjoy 
her  reward.  At  the  beginning  of  the  winter,  she  fell 
seriously  ill,  and  in  spite  of  receiving  every  care  from 
the  waif  and  Madeleine,  she  died  on  Candlemas  Day, 
after  having  so  far  recovered  that  they  thought  her 
well  again.  Madeleine  sorrowed  and  wept  for  her 
sincerely,  but  she  tried  to  comfort  the  poor  waif,  who 
but  for  her  would  have  been  inconsolable. 

Even  after  a  year's  time,  he  still  thought  of  her 
6S 


FRANCOIS   THE   WAIF 

every  day,  and  almost  every  instant.     Once  he  said 
to  the  miller's  wife : 

*'  I  feel  a  kind  of  remorse  when  I  pray  for  my  poor 
mother's  soul;  it  is  because  I  did  not  love  her  enough. 
I  am  very  sure  that  I  always  did  my  best  to  please 
her,  that  I  never  said  any  but  kind  words  to  her,  and 
that  I  served  her  in  all  ways  as  I  serve  you ;  but  I 
must  confess  something,  Madame  Blanchet,  which 
troubles  me,  and  for  which,  in  secret,  I  often  ask 
God's  forgiveness.  Ever  since  the  day  my  poor 
mother  wanted  to  send  me  back  to  the  asylum,  and 
you  took  my  part,  and  prevented  her  doing  so,  my 
love  for  her,  against  my  will,  grew  less.  1  was  not 
angry  with  her ;  I  did  not  allow  myself  even  to  think 
that  she  was  wrong  in  trying  to  rid  herself  of  me. 
It  was  her  right  to  do  so;  I  stood  in  her  way;  she 
was  afraid  of  your  mother-in-law,  and  after  all  she 
did  it  very  reluctantly;  for  I  could  see  that  she  loved 
me  greatly.  In  some  way  or  other,  the  idea  keeps 
recurring  to  my  mind,  and  I  cannot  drive  it  away. 
From  the  moment  you  said  to  me  those  words  which 
I  shall  never  forget,  I  loved  you  more  than  her,  and 
in  spite  of  all  I  could  do,  I  thought  of  you  more  often 
than  of  her.  She  is  dead  now,  and  I  did  not  die  of 
grief  as  I  should  if  you  died!  " 
5*  69 


FRANgOIS  THE   WAIF 

'^  What  were  the  words  I  said,  my  poor  child, 
that  made  you  love  me  so  much?  I  do  not  remem- 
ber them." 

''You  do  not  remember  them?"  said  the  waif, 
sitting  down  at  the  feet  of  Madeleine,  who  was  turn- 
ing her  wheel  as  she  listened.  '*  When  you  gave  the 
crowns  to  my  mother,  you  said:  '  There,  I  buy  that 
child  of  you;  he  is  mine! '  And  then  you  kissed  me 
and  said:  'Now  you  are  no  longer  a  waif;  you  have 
a  mother  who  will  love  you  as  if  you  were  her  own !  * 
Did  not  you  say  so,  Madame  Blanchet?  " 

"  If  I  did,  I  said  what  I  meant,  and  am  still  of  the 
same  mind.  Do  you  think  I  have  failed  to  keep  my 
word?" 

''Oh  no!  only—" 

"Only  what?" 

"No.  I  cannot  tell  you,  for  it  is  wrong  to  com- 
plain and  be  thankless  and  ungrateful." 

"  I  know  that  you  cannot  be  ungrateful,  and  I  want 
you  to  say  what  you  have  on  your  mind.  Come,  in 
what  respict  don't  I  treat  you  like  my  own  child?  I 
order  you  to  tell  me,  as  I  should  order  Jeannie." 

"  Well,  it  is — it  is  that  you  kiss  Jeannie  very  often, 
and  have  never  kissed  me  since  the  day  we  were  just 
speaking  of.  Yet  I  am  careful  to  keep  my  face  and 
70 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

hands  very  clean,  because  I  know  that  you  do  not 
like  dirty  children,  and  are  always  running  after 
Jeannie  to  wash  and  comb  him.  But  this  does  not 
make  you  kiss  me  any  more,  and  my  mother  Zabelle 
did  not  kiss  me  either.  I  see  that  other  mothers  caress 
their  children,  and  so  I  know  that  I  am  always  a 
waif,  and  that  you  cannot  forget  it." 

**  Come  and  kiss  me,  Francois,"  said  the  miller's 
wife,  making  the  child  sit  on  her  knees  and  kissing 
him  with  much  feeling.  "  It  is  true  that  I  did  wrong 
never  to  think  of  it,  and  you  deserved  better  of  me. 
You  see  now  that  I  kiss  you  with  all  my  heart,  and 
you  are  very  sure  that  you  are  not  a  waif,  are  not  you  ?  " 

The  child  flung  his  arms  round  Madeleine's  neck, 
and  turned  so  pale  that  she  was  surprised,  and  put- 
ting him  down  gently  from  her  lap,  tried  to  distract 
his  attention.  After  a  minute,  he  left  her,  and  ran 
off  to  hide.  The  miller's  wife  felt  some  uneasiness, 
and  making  a  search  for  him,  she  finally  found  him 
on  his  knees,  in  a  corner  of  the  barn,  bathed  in  tears. 

''What  does  this  mean,  Francois?"  said  she, 
raising  him  up.  *'  I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter 
with  you.  If  you  are  thinking  of  your  poor  mother 
Zabelle,  you  had  better  say  a  prayer  for  her,  and  then 
you  will  feel  more  at  rest." 
7^ 


FRANgOIS   THE  WAIF 

*'  No,  no,"  said  the  child,  twisting  the  end  of 
Madeleine's  apron,  and  kissing  it  with  all  his  might. 
''Are  not  you  my  mother?  " 

"Why  are  you  crying  then?  You  give  me  pain! " 
"  Oh,  no  !  oh,  no  !  I  am  not  crying,"  answered 
Francois,  drying  his  eyes  quickly,  and  looking  up 
cheerfully;  "  I  mean,  I  do  not  know  why  I  was  cry- 
ing. Truly,  I  cannot  understand  it,  for  I  am  as  happy 
as  if  I  were  in  heaven." 


72 


CHAPTER    V 

FROM  that  day  on  Madeleine  kissed  the  child, 
morning  and  evening,  neither  more  nor  less 
than  if  he  had  been  her  own,  and  the  only  difference 
she  made  between  Jeannie  and  Francois  was  that 
the  younger  was  the  more  petted  and  spoiled  as  be- 
came his  age.  He  was  only  seven,  while  the  waif 
was  twelve,  and  Francois  understood  perfectly  that 
a  big  boy  like  him  could  not  be  caressed  like  a  little 
one.  Besides,  they  were  still  more  unlike  in  looks 
than  in  years.  Francois  was  so  tall  and  strong  that 
he  passed  for  fifteen,  and  Jeannie  was  small  and 
slender  like  his  mother,  whom  he  greatly  resembled. 

It  happened  one  morning,  when  she  had  just  re- 
ceived Francois's  greeting  on  her  door-step,  and  had 
kissed  him  as  usual,  her  servant  said  to  her: 

*M  mean  no  offense,  my  good  mistress,  but  it 
seems  to  me  that  boy  is  very  big  to  let  you  kiss 
him  as  if  he  were  a  little  girl." 
73 


FRANCOIS   THE  WAIF 

*'  Do  you  think  so?"  answered  Madeleine,  in  as- 
tonishment.    "  Don't  you  know  how  young  he  is? " 

"Yes,  and  I  should  not  see  any  harm  in  it,  except 
that  he  is  a  waif,  and  though  I  am  only  your  servant, 
I  would  not  be  hired  to  kiss  any  such  riff-raff." 

''What  you  say  is  wrong,  Catherine,"  returned 
Madame  Blanchet ;  "  and  above  all,  you  should  not 
say  it  before  the  poor  child." 

''  She  may  say  it,  and  everybody  else  may  say  it, 
too,"  replied  Francois,  boldly.  '' I  don't  care;  if  I 
am  not  a  waif  for  you,  Madame  Blanchet,  I  am  very 
well  satisfied." 

*'  Only  hear  him!  "  said  the  servant.  "  This  is  the 
first  time  I  ever  knew  him  to  talk  so  much  at  once. 
Then  you  know  how  to  put  two  or  three  words  to- 
gether, do  you,  Francois  ?  I  really  thought  you  could 
not  even  understand  what  other  people  said.  If  I 
had  known  that  you  were  listening,  I  should  not 
have  spoken  before  you  as  I  did,  for  I  have  no  idea 
of  hurting  your  feelings.  You  are  a  good,  quiet, 
obliging  boy.  Come,  you  must  not  think  of  it  any 
more;  if  it  seems  odd  to  me  for  our  mistress  to  kiss 
you,  it  is  only  because  you  are  too  big  for  it,  and  so 
much  coddling  makes  you  look  sillier  than  you  really 
are„" 

74 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

Having  tried  to  mend  matters  in  this  way,  big 
Catherine  set  about  making  her  soup,  and  forgot  all 
about  what  had  passed. 

The  waif  followed  Madeleine  to  the  place  where 
she  did  her  washing,  and  sitting  down  beside  her, 
he  spoke  as  he  knew  how  to  speak  with  her  and  for 
her  alone. 

"  Do  you  remember,  Madame  Blanchet,"  said  he, 
*'  how  I  was  here  once,  long  ago,  and  you  let  me  go 
to  sleep  in  your  shawl  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  my  child,"  said  she,  "  it  was  the  first  time 
we  ever  saw  each  other." 

*' Was  it  the  first  time?  I  was  not  certain,  for  I 
cannot  recollect  very  well;  when  1  think  of  that 
time,  it  is  all  like  a  dream.  How  many  years  ago 
is  it  ?  " 

"  It  is — wait  a  minute — it  is  nearly  six  years,  for 
my  Jeannie  was  fourteen  months  old." 

*'  So  I  was  not  so  old  then  as  he  is  now  ?  When 
he  has  made  his  first  communion,  do  you  think  he 
will  remember  all  that  is  happening  to  him  now  ?  " 

"Oh!  yes,  I  shall  be  sure  to  remember,"  cried 
Jeannie. 

**  That  may  be  so  or  not,"  said  Fran<pois.    "What 
were  you  doing  yesterday  at  this  hour  ?  " 
75 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

Jeannie  was  startled,  and  opened  his  mouth  to  an- 
swer; then  he  stopped  short,  much  abashed. 

''Well!  I  wager  that  you  cannot  give  a  better 
account  of  yourself,  either,"  said  the  miller's  wife  to 
Fran9ois.  She  always  took  pleasure  in  listening  to 
the  prattle  of  the  two  children. 

''  I  ?  "  said  the  waif,  embarrassed,  ''  wait  a  moment 
—  I  was  going  to  the  fields,  and  passed  by  this  very 
place — I  was  thinking  of  you.  Indeed,  it  was  yes- 
terday that  the  day  when  you  wrapped  me  up  in 
your  shawl  came  into  my  mind." 

''You  have  a  good  memory,  and  it  is  surprising 
that  you  can  remember  so  far  back.  Can  you  re- 
member that  you  were  ill  with  fever  ?  " 

"No,  indeed!" 

"And  that  you  carried  home  my  linen  without 
my  asking  you  ?  " 

"No." 

"  I  have  always  remembered  it,  because  that  was 
the  way  I  found  out  how  good  your  heart  was." 

"  I  have  a  good  heart  too,  have  n't  I,  mother?" 
said  little  Jeannie,  presenting  his  mother  with  an 
apple  which  he  had  half  eaten. 

"  To  be  sure  you  have,  and  you  must  try  to  copy 
^Franfois  in  all  the  good  things  you  see  him  do." 

76 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

''  Oh,  yes!  "  answered  the  child  quickly,  ''  I  shall 
jump  on  the  yellow  colt  this  evening,  and  shall  ride 
it  into  pasture." 

"  Shall  you  ?  "  said  Francois,  laughing.  '^  Are  you, 
too,  going  to  climb  up  the  great  ash-tree  to  hunt 
tomtits?  1  shall  let  you  do  it,  my  little  fellow!  But 
listen,  Madame  Blanchet,  there  is  something  I  want 
to  ask  of  you,  but  I  do  not  know  whether  you  will 
tell  it  to  me." 

"  Let  me  hear." 

* '  Why  do  they  think  they  hurt  my  feelings  when 
they  call  me  a  waif?  Is  there  any  harm  in  being  a 
waif?  " 

"No;  certainly  not,  my  child,  since  it  is  no  fault  of 
yours." 

"Whose  fault  is  it?" 

"  It  is  the  fault  of  the  rich  people." 

"The  fault  of  the  rich  people!  What  does  that 
mean  ?  " 

"  You  are  asking  a  great  many  questions  to-day; 
I  shall  answer  you  by  and  by." 

"No,  no;  right  away,  Madame  Blanchet." 

"  I  cannot  explain  it  to  you.  In  the  first  place,  do 
you  know  yourself  what  it  is  to  be  a  waif?  " 

"Yes;  it  is  being  put  in  a  foundling  asylum  by 
77 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

your  father  and  mother,  because  they  have  no  money 
to  feed  you  and  bring  you  up." 

"  Yes,  that  is  it.  So  you  see  that  there  are  people 
so  wretched  as  not  to  be  able  to  bring  up  their  own 
children,  and  that  is  the  fault  of  the  rich  who  do  not 
help  them." 

"  You  are  right!  "  answered  the  waif  very  thought- 
fully. ''  Yet  there  are  some  good  rich  people,  since 
you  are  one,  Madaipe  Blanchet,  and  it  is  only  neces- 
sary to  fall  in  their  way." 


78 


CHAPTER    VI 

NEVERTHELESS,  the  waif,  who  was  always 
musing  and  trying  to  find  reasons  for  every- 
thing since  he  had  learned  to  read  and  had  made  his 
first  communion,  kept  pondering  over  what  Catherine 
had  said  to  Madame  Blanchet  about  him ;  but  it  was 
in  vain  that  he  reflected,  for  he  could  never  under- 
stand why,  now  that  he  was  growing  older,  he 
should  no  longer  kiss  Madeleine.  He  was  the  most 
innocent  boy  in  the  world,  and  had  no  suspicion  of 
what  boys  of  his  age  learn  all  too  quickly  in  the 
country. 

His  great  simplicity  of  mind  was  the  result  of  his 
singular  bringing-up.  He  had  never  felt  his  position 
as  a  foundling  to  be  a  disgrace,  but  it  had  made  him 
very  shy;  for  though  he  had  not  taken  the  title  as  an 
insult,  he  was  always  surprised  to  find  he  possessed 
a  characteristic  which  made  a  difference  between 
himself  and  those  with  whom  he  associated.  Found- 
79 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

lings  are  apt  to  be  humbled  by  their  fate,  which  is 
generally  thrust  upon  them  so  harshly  that  they  lose 
early  their  self-respect  as  Christians.  They  grow  up 
full  of  hatred  toward  those  who  brought  them  into 
the  world,  not  to  speak  of  those  who  helped  them 
to  remain  in  it.  It  happened,  however,  that  Fran- 
cois had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  Zabelle,  who  loved 
him  and  treated  him  with  kindness,  and  afterward 
he  had  met  with  Madeleine,  who  was  the  most 
charitable  and  compassionate  of  women.  She  had 
been  a  good  mother  to  him,  and  a  waif  who  receives 
affection  is  better  than  other  children,  just  as  he  is 
worse  when  he  is  abused  and  degraded. 

Francois  had  never  known  any  amusement  or 
perfect  content  except  when  in  the  company  of 
Madeleine,  and  instead  of  running  off  with  the  other 
shepherd-boys  for  his  recreation,  he  had  grown  up 
quite  solitary,  or  tied  to  the  apron-strings  of  the  two 
women  who  loved  him.  Especially  when  with  Made- 
leine, he  was  as  happy  as  Jeannie  could  be,  and  he 
was  in  no  haste  to  play  with  the  other  children,  who 
were  sure  to  call  him  a  waif,  and  with  whom  he 
soon  felt  himself  a  stranger,  though  he  could  not 
tell  why. 

So  he  reached  the  age  of  fifteen  without  any 
80 


FRANgOIS   THE  WAIF 

knowledge  of  wrong  or  conception  of  evil;  his  lips 
had  never  uttered  an  unclean  word,  nor  had  his  ears 
taken  in  the  meaning  of  one.  Yet,  since  the  day 
that  Catherine  had  censured  his  mistress  for  the  affec- 
tion she  showed  him,  the  child  had  the  great  good 
sense  and  judgment  to  forego  his  morning  kiss  from 
the  miller's  wife.  He  pretended  to  forget  about  it,  or 
perhaps  to  be  ashamed  of  being  coddled  like  a  little 
girl,  as  Catherine  had  said.  But  at  the  bottom,  he 
had  no  such  false  shame,  and  he  would  have  laughed 
at  the  idea,  had  he  not  guessed  that  the  sweet  wo- 
man he  loved  might  incur  blame  on  his  account. 
Why  should  she  be  blamed?  He  could  not  under- 
stand it,  and  though  he  saw  that  he  could  never  find 
it  out  by  himself,  he  shrank  from  asking  Madeleine 
for  an  explanation.  He  knew  that  her  strength  of 
love  and  kindness  of  heart  had  enabled  her  to  endure 
the  carping  of  others ;  for  he  had  a  good  memory, 
and  recollected  that  Madeleine  had  been  upbraided, 
and  had  narrowly  escaped  blows  in  former  years  be- 
cause of  her  goodness  to  him. 

Now,  owing  to  his  good  instincts,  he  spared  her 

the  annoyance  of  being  rebuked  and  ridiculed  on  his 

account.     He  understood,  and  it  is  wonderful  that 

the  poor  child  could  understand,  that  a  waif  was 

6  8i 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

to  be  loved  only  in  secret ;  and  rather  than  cause 
any  trouble  to  Madeleine,  he  would  have  consented 
to  do  without  her  love. 

He  was  attentive  to  his  work,  and  as,  in  propor- 
tion as  he  grew  older,  he  had  more  to  do,  it  hap- 
pened that  he  was  less  and  less  with  Madeleine.  He 
did  not  grieve  for  this,  for,  as  he  toiled,  he  said  to 
himself  that  it  was  for  her,  and  that  he  would  have 
his  reward  in  seeing  her  at  meals.  In  the  evening, 
when  Jeannie  was  asleep  and  Catherine  had  gone  to 
bed,  Francois  still  stayed  up  with  Madeleine  while 
she  worked,  and  read  aloud  to  her,  or  talked  with 
her.  Peasants  do  not  read  very  fast,  so  that  the  two 
books  they  had  were  quite  sufficient  for  them.  When 
they  read  three  pages  in  an  evening  they  thought  it 
was  a  gi-eat  deal,  and  when  the  book  was  finished, 
so  much  time  had  passed  since  the  beginning  that 
they  could  take  it  up  again  at  the  first  page  without 
finding  it  too  familiar.  There  are  two  ways  of  read- 
ing, and  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  say  so  to  those  per- 
sons who  think  themselves  well  educated.  Those 
who  have  much  time  to  themselves  and  many  books, 
devour  so  many  of  them  and  cram  so  much  stuff 
into  their  heads,  that  they  are  utterly  confused; 
but  those  who  have  neither  leisure  nor  libraries  are 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

happy  when  a  good  book  falls  into  their  hands. 
They  begin  it  over  again  a  thousand  times  without 
weariness^  and  every  time  something  strikes  them 
which  they  had  not  observed  before.  In  the  main, 
the  idea  is  always  the  same,  but  it  is  so  much  dwelt 
upon,  so  thoroughly  enjoyed  and  digested^  that  the 
single  mind  which  possesses  it  is  better  fed  and  more 
healthy  than  thirty  thousand  brains  full  of  wind  and 
twaddle.  What  I  am  telling  you,  my  children,  I  have 
from  the  parish  priest,  who  knows  all  about  it. 

So  these  two  persons  lived  happy  with  what  they 
had  to  consume  in  the  matter  of  learning;  and  they 
consumed  it  slowly,  helping  each  other  to  understand 
and  love  all  that  makes  us  just  and  good.  Thus  they 
grew  in  piety  and  courage;  and  they  had  no  greater 
joy  than  to  feel  themselves  at  peace  with  all  the 
world,  and  to  be  of  one  mind  at  all  times  and  in  all 
places,  on  the  subject  of  the  truth  and  the  desire  of 
holy  living. 


83 


CHAPTER     VII 

MASTER  BLANCH ET  was  no  longer  particular 
concerning  his  household  expenses,  because 
he  had  fixed  the  amount  of  money  which  he  gave  to 
his  wife  every  month  for  her  housekeeping,  and  made 
it  as  little  as  possible.  Madeleine  could,  without  dis- 
pleasing him,  deprive  herself  of  her  own  comfort  in 
order  to  give  alms  to  the  poor  about  her;  sometimes 
a  little  wood,  another  time  part  of  her  own  dinner, 
again  some  vegetables,  some  clothing,  some  eggs, 
and  so  on.  She  spent  all  she  had  in  the  service  of 
her  neighbors,  and  when  her  money  was  exhausted, 
she  did  with  her  own  hands  the  work  of  the  poor,  so 
as  to  save  the  lives  of  those  among  them  who  were  ill 
and  worn  out.  She  was  so  economical,  and  mended 
her  old  clothes  so  carefully,  that  she  appeared  to  live 
comfortably;  and  yet  she  was  so  anxious  that  her 
family  should  not  suffer  for  what  she  gave  away, 
that  she  accustomed  herself  to  eat  scarcely  anything, 

84 


FRANCOIS  THE   WAIF 

never  to  rest,  and  to  sleep  as  little  as  possible.  The 
waif  saw  all  this,  and  thought  it  quite  natural ;  for  it 
was  in  his  character,  as  well  as  in  the  education  he 
received  from  Madeleine,  to  feel  the  same  inclination, 
and  to  be  drawn  toward  the  same  duty.  Sometimes, 
only,  he  was  troubled  by  the  great  hardships  which 
the  miller's  wife  endured,  and  blamed  himself  for 
sleeping  and  eating  too  much.  He  would  gladly  have 
spent  the  night  sewing  and  spinning  in  her  place; 
and  when  she  tried  to  pay  him  his  wages,  which  had 
risen  to  nearly  twenty  crowns,  he  refused  to  take  them, 
and  obliged  her  to  keep  them  without  the  miller's 
knowledge. 

"  If  my  mother  Zabelle  were  alive,"  said  he,  ''this 
money  would  be  for  her.  What  do  you  expect  me  to 
do  with  it?  I  have  no  need  of  it,  since  you  take  care 
of  my  clothes,  and  provide  me  with  sabots.  Keep  it 
for  somebody  more  unfortunate  than  I  am.  You 
work  so  hard  for  the  poor  already,  and  if  you  give 
money  to  me,  you  must  work  still  harder.  If  you 
should  fall  ill  and  die  like  poor  Zabelle,  I  should  like 
to  know  what  good  it  would  do  me  to  have  my 
chest  full  of  money.  Would  it  bring  you  back 
again,  or  prevent  me  from  throwing  myself  in  the 
river  ?  " 

6*  85 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

'^  You  do  not  know  what  you  are  talking  about, 
my  child,"  said  Madeleine,  one  day  that  this  idea  re- 
turned to  his  mind,  as  happened  from  time  to  time. 
'Mt  is  not  a  Christian  act  to  kill  oneself,  and  if  I 
should  die,  it  would  be  your  duty  to  live  after  me  to 
comfort  and  help  my  Jeannie.  Should  not  you  do 
that  for  me  ?  " 

'*  Yes,  as  long  as  Jeannie  was  a  child  and  needed 
my  love.  But  afterward!  Do  not  let  us  speak  of 
this,  Madame  Blanchet.  I  cannot  be  a  good  Chris- 
tian on  this  point.  Do  not  tire  yourself  out,  and  do 
not  die,  if  you  want  me  to  live  on  this  earth." 

"  You  may  set  your  mind  at  ease,  for  I  have  no 
wish  to  die.  I  am  well.  I  am  hardened  to  work, 
and  now  I  am  even  stronger  than  I  was  in  my 
youth." 

"  In  your  youth!  "  exclaimed  Francois  in  astonish- 
ment.  ''  Are  not  you  young,  then  ?  " 

And  he  was  afraid  lest  she  might  have  reached  the 
age  for  dying. 

*'  I  think  I  never  had  time  to  be  young,"  an- 
swered Madeleine,  laughing  like  one  who  meets  mis- 
fortune bravely.  "  Now  I  am  twenty-five  years  old, 
and  that  is  a  good  deal  for  a  woman  of  my  make; 
for  I  was  not  born  strong  like  you,  my  boy,  and  I 
86 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

have  had  sorrows  which  have  aged  me  more  than 
years." 

''Sorrows!  Heavens,  yes!  I  knew  it  very  well, 
when  Monsieur  Blanchet  used  to  speak  so  roughly  to 
you.  God  forgive  me !  I  am  not  a  wicked  boy,  yet 
once  when  he  raised  his  hand  against  you  as  if  to 
strike  you — Oh!  he  did  well  to  change  his  mind,  for 
I  had  seized  a  flail, —  nobody  had  noticed  me, —  and 
I  was  going  to  fall  upon  him.  But  that  was  a  long 
time  ago,  Madame  Blanchet,  for  I  remember  that  I 
was  much  shorter  than  he  then,  and  now  I  can  look 
right  over  his  head.  And  now  that  he  scarcely 
speaks  to  you  any  more,  Madame  Blanchet,  you  are 
no  longer  unhappy,  are  you  ?  " 

*'So  you  think  I  am  no  longer  unhappy,  do 
you  ?  "  said  Madeleine  rather  sharply,  thinking  how 
it  was  that  there  had  never  been  any  love  in  her 
marriage.  Then  she  checked  herself,  for  what  she 
was  going  to  say  was  no  concern  of  the  waifs,  and 
she  had  no  right  to  put  such  ideas  into  a  child's  head. 

*'  You  are  right,"  said  she;  ''  I  am  no  longer  un- 
happy. I  live  as  I  please.  My  husband  is  much 
kinder  to  me;  my  son  is  well  and  strong,  and  I  have 
nothing  to  complain  of." 

"  Then  don't  I  enter  into  your  calculations?  I — " 
87 


FRANgOIS  THE   WAIF 

"  You?  You  are  well  and  strong,  too,  and  that 
pleases  me." 

**  Don't  I  please  you  in  any  other  way  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  you  are  a  good  boy;  you  are  always  right- 
minded,  and  I  am  satisfied  with  you." 

"Oh!  if  you  were  not  satisfied  with  me,  what  a 
scamp,  what  a  good-for-nothing  I  should  be,  after 
the  way  in  which  you  have  treated  me!  But  there 
is  still  something  else  which  ought  to  make  you 
happy,  if  you  think  as  I  do." 

"Very  well,  tell  me;  for  I  do  not  know  what 
puzzle  you  are  contriving  for  me." 

"  I  mean  no  puzzle,  Madame  Blanchet.  I  need 
but  look  into  my  heart,  and  I  see  that  even  if  I  had 
to  suffer  hunger,  thirst,  heat,  and  cold,  and  were  to 
be  beaten  half  to  death  every  day  into  the  bargain, 
and  then  had  only  a  bundle  of  thorns  or  a  heap  of 
stones  to  lie  on  —  well,  can  you  understand?  " 

"  I  think  so,  my  dear  Francois;  you  could  be 
happy  in  spite  of  so  much  evil  if  only  your  heart 
were  at  peace  with  God." 

"  Of  course  that  is  true,  and  I  need  not  speak  of 
it.     But  I  meant  something  else." 

"  I  cannot  imagine  what  you  are  aiming  at,  and  I 
see  that  you  are  cleverer  than  I  am»" 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

"  No,  I  am  not  clever.  I  mean  that  I  could  suffer 
all  the  pains  that  a  man  living  mortal  life  can  en- 
dure, and  could  still  be  happy  if  I  thought  Madame 
Blanchet  loved  me.  That  is  the  reason  why  I  just 
said  to  you  that  if  you  thought  as  I  did,  you  would 
say :  '  Francois  loves  me,  and  I  am  content  to  be 
alive.'" 

"You  are  right,  my  poor  dear  child,"  answered 
Madeleine;  "and  the  things  you  say  to  me  some- 
times make  me  want  to  cry.  Yes,  truly,  your  af- 
fection for  me  is  one  of  the  joys  of  my  life,  and 
perhaps  the  greatest,  after  —  no,  I  mean  with  my 
Jeannie's.  As  you  are  older  than  he,  you  can  under- 
stand better  what  I  say  to  you,  and  you  can  better 
explain  your  thoughts  to  me.  I  assure  you  that  I  am 
never  wearied  when  I  am  with  both  of  you,  and  the 
only  prayer  I  make  to  God  is  that  we  may  long 
be  able  to  live  together  as  we  do  now,  without 
separating." 

"Without  separating,  I  should  think  so!"  said 
Francois.  "  I  should  rather  be  cut  into  little  pieces 
than  leave  you.  Who  else  would  love  me  as  you 
have  loved  me?  Who  would  run  the  danger  of 
being  ill-treated  for  the  sake  of  a  poor  waif,  and 
who  would  call  me  her  child,  her  dear  son  ?  For  you 
89 


^ 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

call  me  so  often,  almost  always.  You  often  say 
to  me  when  we  are  alone:  'Call  me  mother,  and 
not  always  Madame  Blanchet.'  I  do  not  dare  to  do 
so,  because  I  am  afraid  of  becoming  accustomed  to 
it  and  letting  it  slip  out  before  somebody." 

"  Well,  even  if  you  did  so  ?  " 

"Oh!  you  would  be  sure  to  be  blamed  for  it,  and 
I  do  not  like  to  have  you  tormented  on  my  account. 
I  am  not  proud,  and  I  do  not  care  to  have  it  known 
that  you  have  raised  me  from  my  orphan  estate.  I 
am  satisfied  to  know,  all  by  myself,  that  I  have  a 
mother  and  am  her  child.  Oh!  you  must  not  die, 
Madame  Blanchet,"  added  poor  Francois,  looking  at 
her  sadly,  for  his  thoughts  had  long  been  running  on 
possible  calamity.  'Mf  I  lost  you,  I  should  have  no 
other  friend  on  this  earth;  you  would  go  straight 
into  Paradise,  and  I  am  not  sure  that  I  deserve  ever 
to  receive  the  reward  of  going  there  with  you." 

Francois  had  a  kind  of  foreboding  of  heavy  mis- 
fortune in  all  he  said  and  thought,  and  some  little 
time  afterward  the  misfortune  fell. 

He  had  become  the  servant  of  the  mill,  and  it  was 

his  duty  to  make  the  round  of  the  customers  of  the 

mill,  to  carry  their  corn  away  on  his  horse,  and  return 

it  to  them  in  flour.     This  sometimes  obliged  him  to 

90 


FRANgOIS   THE  WAIF 

take  long  rides,  and  for  this  same  purpose  he  often 
visited  Blanchet's  mistress,  who  lived  about  a  league 
from  the  mill.  He  was  not  at  all  fond  of  this  com- 
mission, and  would  never  linger  an  instant  in  her 
house  after  her  corn  was  weighed  and  measured. 


At  this  point  of  the  tale  the  narrator  stopped. 

''Are  you  aware  that  I  have  been  talking  a  long 
titne?"  said  she  to  her  friends,  who  were  listening. 
*'  My  lungs  are  not  so  strong  as  they  once  were,  and 
I  think  that  the  hemp-dresser,  who  knows  the  story 
better  than  I,  might  relieve  me,  especially  as  we  have 
just  come  to  a  place  that  I  do  not  remember  so  well." 

*'  I  know  why  your  memory  is  not  so  good  in  the 
middle  as  in  the  beginning,"  answered  the  hemp- 
dresser.  '*  It  is  because  the  waif  is  about  to  get  inta 
trouble,  and  you  cannot  stand  it,  because  you  are 
chicken-hearted  about  love  stories,  like  all  other 
pious  women," 

*'  Is  this  going  to  turn  into  a  love  story?"  asked 
Sylvine  Courtioux,  who  happened  to  be  present. 

"  Good  !  "  replied  the  hemp-dresser.  "  I  knew 
that  if  I  let  out  that  word,  all  the  young  girls  would 
91 


FRANgOIS  THE   WAIF 

prick  up  their  ears.  But  you  must  have  patience;  the 
part  of  the  story  which  I  am  going  to  take  up  on 
condition  that  1  may  carry  it  to  a  happy  close  is  not 
yet  what  you  want  to  hear.  Where  had  you  come 
to,  Mother  Monique  ?  " 

^'  I  had  come  to  Blanchet's  mistress." 
^'  That  was  it,"  said  the  hemp-dresser.  The  wo- 
man was  called  Severe,  but  her  name  was  not  well 
suited  to  her,  for  there  was  nothing  to  match  it  in 
her  disposition.  She  was  very  clever  about  hood- 
winking people  when  she  wanted  to  get  money  out 
of  them.  She  cannot  be  called  entirely  bad,  for  she 
was  of  a  joyous,  careless  temper;  but  she  thought 
only  of  herself,  and  cared  not  at  all  for  the  loss  of 
others,  provided  that  she  had  all  the  finery  and  rec- 
reation she  wanted.  She  had  been  the  fashion  in  the 
country,  and  it  was  said  that  she  had  found  many 
men  to  her  taste.  She  was  still  a  very  handsome, 
buxom  woman,  alert  though  stout,  and  rosy  as  a 
cherry.  She  paid  but  little  attention  to  the  waif,  and 
if  she  met  him  in  her  barn  or  court-yard  she  made 
fun  of  him  with  some  nonsense  or  other,  but  without 
malicious  intent  and  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him 
blush;  for  he  blushed  like  a  girl,  and  was  ill  at  ease 
whenever  she  spoke  to  him.  He  thought  her  brazen, 
92 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

and  she  seemed  both  ugly  and  wicked  in  his  eyes, 
though  she  was  neither  one  nor  the  other;  at  least, 
she  was  only  spiteful  when  she  was  crossed  in  her 
interests  or  her  vanity,  and  I  must  even  acknowledge 
that  she  liked  to  give  almost  as  much  as  to  receive. 
She  was  ostentatiously  generous,  and  enjoyed  being 
thanked ;  but  to  the  mind  of  the  waif  she  was  a 
devil,  who  reduced  Madame  Blanchet  to  want  and 
drudgery. 

Nevertheless,  it  happened  that  when  the  waif  was 
seventeen  years  old,  Madame  Severe  discovered  that 
he  was  a  deucedly  handsome  fellow.  He  was  not 
like  most  country  boys,  who,  at  his  age,  are  dumpy 
and  thick-set,  and  only  develop  into  something  worth 
looking  at  two  or  three  years  later.  He  was  already 
tall  and  well-built ;  his  skin  was  white,  even  at  har- 
vest-time, and  his  tight  curling  hair  was  brown  at  the 
roots  and  golden  at  the  ends. 

"  Do  you  admire  that  sort  of  thing,  Madame 
Monique?  I  mean  the  hair,  without  any  reference 
to  boys." 

"That  is  no  business  of  yours,"  answered  the 
priest's  servant.    *'Go  on  with  your  story." 

He  was  always  poorly  dressed,  but  he  loved  clean- 
liness, as  Madeleine  Blanchet  had  taught  him ;  and 
93 


FRANCOIS   THE   WAIF 

such  as  he  was,  he  had  an  air  that  no  one  else  had. 
Severe  noticed  this  little  by  little^  and  finally  she  was 
so  well  aware  of  it  that  she  took  it  into  ner  head  to 
thaw  him  out  a  little.  She  was  not  a  woman  of  pre- 
judice, and  when  she  heard  anyboay  say,  "  What  a 
pity  that  such  a  handsome  boy  should  be  a  waif!" 
she  answered,  "  There  is  every  reason  that  waifs 
should  be  handsome,  for  love  brought  them  into  the 
world." 

She  devised  the  following  plan  for  being  in  his 
company.  She  made  Blanchet  drink  immoderately 
at  the  fair  of  Saint-Denis-de-Jouhet,  and  when  she 
saw  that  he  was  no  longer  able  to  put  one  foot  be- 
fore the  other,  she  asked  the  friends  she  had  in  the 
place  to  put  him  to  bed.  Then  she  said  to  Francois, 
who  had  come  with  his  master  to  drive  his  animals 
to  the  fair : 

*'  My  lad,  I  am  going  to  leave  my  mare  for  your 
master  to  return  with  to-morrow  morning;  you  may 
mount  his  and  take  me  home  on  the  crupper." 

This  arrangement  was  not  at  all  to  Fran(pois's  taste. 
He  said  that  the  mare  that  belonged  to  the  mill 
was  not  strong  enough  to  carry  two  people,  and  he 
offered  to  accompany  Severe  home,  if  she  rode  her 
own  horse  and  allowed  him  to  ride  Blanchet's.  He 
94 


FRANgOIS  THE   WAIF 

promised  to  come  back  immediately  with  a  fresh 
mount  for  his  master,  and  to  reach  Saint-Denis-de- 
Jouhet  early  the  next  morning;  but  Severe  would  listen 
to  him  no  more  than  the  wind,  and  ordered  him  to 
obey  her.  Franpois  was  afraid  of  her;  for,  as  Blanchet 
saw  with  no  eyes  but  hers,  she  could  have  him  sent 
away  from  the  mill  if  he  displeased  her,  especially  as 
the  feast  of  Saint-Jean  was  near  at  hand.  So  he  took 
her  up  behind  him,  without  suspecting,  poor  fellow, 
that  this  was  not  the  best  means  of  escaping  his  evil 
destiny. 


95 


CHAPTER    VIII 

IT  was  twilight  when  they  set  out,  and  when  they 
passed  the  sluice  of  the  pond  of  Rochefolle  night 
had  already  fallen.  The  moon  had  not  yet  risen  above 
the  trees,  and  in  that  part  of  the  country  the  roads 
are  so  washed  by  numerous  springs  that  they  are 
not  at  all  good.  Fran(;;ois  spurred  his  mare  on  to 
speed,  for  he  disliked  the  company  of  Severe,  and 
longed  to  be  with  Madame  Blanchet. 

But  Severe,  who  was  in  no  haste  to  reach  home, 
began  to  play  the  part  of  a  fine  lady,  saying  that  she 
was  afraid,  and  that  the  mare  must  not  go  faster 
than  a  walk,  because  she  did  not  lift  her  legs  well  and 
might  stumble  at  any  minute. 

''  Bah  !  "  said  Francois  without  paying  any  atten- 
tion; "then  it  would  be  the  first  time  she  said  her 
prayers,  for  I  never  saw  a  mare  so  disinclined  to 
piety!" 

**  You  are  witty,  Francois,"  said  Severe  giggling, 
06 


FRANCOIS   THE   WAIF 

as  if  Francois  had  said  something  very  new  and 
amusing. 

''  Oh,  no  indeed! "  answered  the  waif,  who  thought 
she  was  laughing  at  him. 

"  Come,"  said  she,  ''you  surely  cannot  mean  to 
trot  down-hill?" 

^'  You  need  not  fear,  for  we  can  trot  perfectly 
well." 

The  trot  down-hill  stopped  the  stout  Severe's 
breath,  and  prevented  her  talking.  She  was  ex- 
tremely vexed,  as  she  had  expected  to  coax  the 
young  man  with  her  soft  words,  but  she  was  un- 
willing to  let  him  see  that  she  was  neither  young 
nor  slender  enough  to  stand  fatigue,  and  was  silent 
for  a  part  of  the  way. 

When  they  came  to  a  chestnut  grove,  she  took  it 
into  her  head  to  say: 

''Stop,  Francois;  you  must  stop,  dear  Francois. 
The  mare  has  just  lost  a  shoe," 

"Even  if  she  has  lost  a  shoe,"  said  Franpois, 
*'  I  have  neither  hammer  nor  nails  to  put  it  on 
with." 

"  But  we  must  not  lose  the  shoe.  It  is  worth 
something!     Get  down,  I  say,  and  look  for  it." 

"  I  might  look  two  hours  for  it,  among  these 
7  97 


FRANCOIS   THE   WAIF 

ferns,  without  finding  it.  And  my  eyes  are  not 
lanterns." 

"Oh,  yes,  Franpois,"  said  Severe,  half  in  jest 
and  half  in  earnest;  ''your  eyes  shine  like  glow- 
worms." 

"Then  you  can  see  them  through  my  hat,  I  sup- 
pose ?  "  answered  Francois,  not  at  all  pleased  with 
what  he  took  for  derision. 

"  I  cannot  see  them  just  now,"  said  Severe  with  a 
sigh  as  big  as  herself;  "but  I  have  seen  them  at 
other  times!  " 

"  You  can  never  have  seen  anything  amiss  in 
them,"  returned  the  innocent  waif.  "  You  may  as 
well  leave  them  alone,  for  they  have  never  looked 
rudely  at  you  and  never  will." 

"I  think,"  broke  in  at  this  moment  the  priest's 
servant,  "  that  you  might  skip  this  part  of  the  story. 
It  is  not  very  interesting  to  hear  all  the  bad  devices. 
of  this  wicked  woman,  for  ensnaring  our  waif." 

"Put  yourself  at  ease.  Mother  Monique,"  replied 
the  hemp-dresser.  "  I  shall  skip  as  much  as  is  proper. 
I  know  that  I  am  speaking  before  young  people,  and 
I  shall  not  say  a  word  too  much." 

We  were  just  speaking  of  Francois's  eyes,  the  ex- 

98 


FRANgOIS   THE  WAIF 

pression  of  which  Severe  was  trying  to  make  less 
irreproachable  than  he  had  declared  it  to  be. 

''How  old  are  you,  Francois?"  said  she  with 
more  politeness,  so  as  to  let  him  understand  that 
she  was  no  longer  going  to  treat  him  like  a  little 
boy. 

''Oh,  Heavens!  I  don't  know  exactly,"  answered 
the  waif,  beginning  to  perceive  her  clumsy  advances. 
"I  do  not  often  amuse  myself  by  reckoning  my 
years." 

"  I  heard  that  you  were  only  seventeen,"  she  re- 
sumed, "but  I  wager  that  you  must  be  twenty, 
for  you  are  tall,  and  will  soon  have  a  beard  on 
your  chin." 

"  It  is  all  the  same  to  me,"  said  Franpois,  yawning. 

"Take  care!  You  are  going  too  fast,  my  boy. 
There!    I  have  just  lost  my  purse!  " 

"The  deuce  you  have! "  said  Francois,  who  had 
not  as  yet  discovered  how  sly  she  was.  "  Then  I 
suppose  that  you  must  get  off  and  look  for  it,  for  it 
maybe  of  value." 

He  jumped  down  and  helped  her  to  dismount. 
She  took  pains  to  lean  against  him,  and  he  found  her 
heavier  than  a  sack  of  corn. 

While  she  pretended  to  search  for  the  purse,  which 
99 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

was  all  the  time  in  her  pocket,  he  went  on  five  or 
six  steps,  holding  the  mare  by  the  bridle. 

*'  Are  not  you  going  to  help  me  look  for  it  ?  "  said 
she. 

"1  must  hold  the  mare,"  said  he,  "for  she  is  think- 
ing of  her  colt,  and  if  I  let  her  loose  she  will  run  home. " 

Severe  looked  under  the  mare's  leg,  close  beside 
Franfois,  and  from  this  he  saw  that  she  had  lost 
nothing  except  her  senses. 

**We  had  not  come  as  far  as  this,"  said  he, 
**  when  you  called  out  that  you  had  lost  your  purse. 
So  you  certainly  cannot  find  it  here." 

"Do  you  think  I  am  shamming,  you  rogue?" 
said  she,  trying  to  pull  his  ear;  "  for  I  really  believe 
that  you  are  a  rogue." 

Francois  drew  back,  as  he  was  in  no  mood  for  a 
frolic. 

"No,  no,"  said  he,  "if  you  have  found  your 
money,  let  us  go,  for  I  should  rather  be  asleep  than 
stay  here  jesting." 

"Then  we  can  talk,"  said  Severe,  when  she  was 
seated  again  behind  him;  "they  say  that  beguiles 
the  weariness  of  the  road." 

"  I  need  no  beguiling,"  answered  the  waif,  "for  I 
am  not  weary." 

ICO 


FRANCOIS  THE    WAIF 

"That  is  th6-fuk' Ve^t>^speec^^>0i>^ave-nia'd« 
me^  Franfois! " 

"  If  it  is  a  pretty  speech,  I  made  it  by  accident,  for 
I  do  not  understand  that  sort  of  thing." 

Severe  was  exasperated,  but  she  would  not  as  yet 
give  in  to  the  truth. 

**  The  boy  must  be  a  simpleton,"  said  she  to  her- 
self. "  If  1  make  him  lose  his  way,  he  will  have  to 
stay  a  little  longer  with  me.''* 

So  she  tried  to  mislead  him,  and  to  induce  him  to 
turn  to  the  left  when  he  was  going  to  the  right. 

"  You  are  making  a  mistake,"  said  she;  "this  is 
the  first  time  you  have  been  over  this  road.  I  know 
it  better  than  you  do.  Take  my  advice,  or  you  will 
make  me  spend  the  night  in  the  woods,  young 
man! " 

When  Francois  had  once  been  over  a  road,  he 
knew  it  so  perfectly  that  he  could  fmd  his  way  in  it 
at  the  end  of  a  year. 

"No,  no,"  said  he,  "this  is  the  right  way,  and  I 
am  not  in  the  least  out  of  my  head.  The  mare 
knows  it  too,  and  I  have  no  desire  to  spend  the 
night  rambling  about  the  woods." 

Thus  he  reached  the  farm  of  Dollins,  where  Severe 
lived,  without  losing  a  quarter  of  an  hour  and  with- 
7*  I.-:  I 


FRANgOIS   THE  WAIF 

cut  giving  an  epe^{ing•as^vWde^as*th5'eye  of  a  needle 
to  her  advances.  Once  there,  she  tried  to  detain 
him,  insisting  that  the  night  was  dark,  that  the 
water  had  risen,  and  that  he  would  have  difficulty  in 
crossing  the  fords.  The  waif  cared  not  a  whit  for 
these  dangers,  and,  bored  with  so  many  foolish  words, 
he  struck  the  mare  with  his  heels,  galloped  off  with- 
out waiting  to  hear  the  rest,  and  returned  swiftly  to 
the  mill,  where  Madeleine  Blanchet  was  waiting  for 
him,  grieved  that  he  should  come  so  late. 


CHAPTER    IX 


THE  waif  never  told  Madeleine  what  Severe  had 
given  him  to  understand;  he  would  not  have 
dared,  and  indeed  dared  not  even  think  of  it  himself. 
I  cannot  say  that  I  should  have  behaved  as  discreetly  ^ 
as  he  in  such  an  adventure;  but  a  little  discretion 
never  does  any  harm,  and  then  1  am  telling  things  as 
they  happened.  This  boy  was  as  refined  as  a  well- 
brought-up  girl. 

As  Madame  Severe  thought  over  the  matter  at 
night,  she  became  incensed  against  him,  and  per- 
ceived that  he  had  scorned  her  and  was  not  the  fool 
she  had  taken  him  for.  Chafing  at  this  thought,  her 
spleen  rose,  and  great  projects  of  revenge  passed 
through  her  head. 

So  much  so  that  when  Cadet  Blanchet,  still  half 

drunk,  returned  to  her  next  morning,  she  gave  him 

to  understand  that  his  mill-boy  was  a  little  upstart, 

whom  she  had  been  obliged  to  hold  in  check  and 

103 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

cuff  in  the  face,  because  he  had  taken  it  into  his 
head  to  make  love  to  her  and  kiss  her  as  they  came 
home  together  through  the  wood  at  night. 

This  was  more  than  enough  to  disorder  Blanchet's 
wits;  but  she  was  not  yet  satisfied,  and  jeered  at 
him  for  leaving  at  home  with  his  wife  a  fellow  who 
would  be  inclined  by  his  age  and  character  to  be- 
guile the  dullness  of  her  life. 

In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  Blanchet  was  jealous 
both  of  his  mistress  and  his  wife.  He  seized  his 
heavy  stick,  pulled  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes,  like 
an  extinguisher  on  a  candle,  and  rushed  off  to  the 
mill,  without  stopping  for  breath. 

Fortunately,  the  waif  was  not  there.  He  had  gone 
away  to  fell  and  saw  up  a  tree  that  Blanchet  had 
bought  from  Blanchard  of  Guerin,  and  was  not  to 
return  till  evening.  Blanchet  would  have  gone  to 
find  him  at  his  work,  but  he  shrank  from  showing 
his  fury  before  the  young  millers  of  Guerin,  lest  they 
should  make  sport  of  him  for  his  jealousy,  which 
was  unreasonable  after  his  long  neglect  and  con- 
tempt of  his  wife. 

He  would  have  stayed  to  wait  for  his  return,  but  he 
thought  it  too  wearisome  to  stay  all  day  at  home, 
and  he  knew  that  the  quarrel  which  he  wished  to 
104 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

pick  with  his  wife  could  not  last  long  enough  to 
occupy  him  till  evening.  It  is  impossible  to  be 
angry  very  long  when  the  ill-temper  is  all  on  one 
side. 

In  spite  of  this,  however,  he  could  have  endured 
all  the  derision  and  the  tedium  for  the  pleasure  of 
belaboring  the  poor  waif;  but  as  his  walk  had 
cooled  him  to  some  degree,  he  reflected  that  this 
cursed  waif  was  no  longer  a  child,  and  that  if  he 
were  old  enough  to  think  of  making  love,  he  was 
also  old  enough  to  defend  himself  with  blows,  if 
provoked.  So  he  tried  to  gather  his  wits  together, 
drinking  glass  after  glass  in  silence,  revolving  in  his 
brain  what  he  was  going  to  say  to  his  wife,  but  did 
not  know  how  to  begin. 

He  had  said  roughly,  on  entering,  that  he  wished 
her  to  listen  to  something;  so  she  sat  near  him,  as 
usual  sad,  silent,  and  with  a  tinge  of  pride  in  her 
manner, 

"Madame  Blanchet,"  said  he  at  last,  "I  have  a 
command  to  give  you,  but  if  you  were  the  woman 
you  pretend  to  be,  and  that  you  have  the  reputation 
of  being,  you  would  not  wait  to  be  told." 

There  he  halted  as  if  to  take  breath,  but  the  fact  is 
that  he  was  almost  ashamed  of  what  he  was  going 
105 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

to  say,  for  virtue  was  written  on  his  wife's  face  as 
plainly  as  a  prayer  in  a  missal. 

Madeleine  would  not  help  him  to  explain  himself 
She  did  not  breathe  a  word,  but  waited  for  him  to  go 
on,  expecting  him  to  find  fault  with  her  for  some  ex- 
penditure, for  she  had  no  suspicion  of  what  he  was 
meditating. 

"You  behave  as  if  you  did  not  understand  me, 
Madame  Blanchet,"  continued  the  miller,  "and  yet 
my  meaning  is  clear.  You  must  throw  that  rubbish 
out  of  doors,  the  sooner  the  better,  for  I  have  had 
enough  and  too  much  of  all  this  sort  of  thing." 

"  Throw  what?  "  asked  Madeleine,  in  amazement. 

"Throw  what!  Then  you  do  not  dare  to  say 
throw  wbom?^^ 

"  Good  God!  no;  I  know  nothing  about  it,"  said 
she.     "  Speak,  if  you  want  me  to  understand  you." 

"  You  will  make  me  lose  my  temper,"  cried  Cadet 
Blanchet,  bellowing  like  a  bull.  "I  tell  you  that 
waif  is  not  wanted  in  my  house,  and  if  he  is  still 
here  by  to-morrow  morning,  I  shall  turn  him  out  of 
doors  by  main  force,  unless  he  prefer  to  take  a  turn 
under  my  mill-wheel." 

"Your  words  are  cruel,  and  your  purpose  is  very 
foolish,  Master  Blanchet,"  said  Madeleine,  who  could 
1 06 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

not  help  turning  as  white  as  her  cap.  "You  will 
ruin  your  business  if  you  send  the  boy  away;  for 
you  will  never  find  another  who  will  work  so  well, 
and  be  satisfied  with  such  small  wages.  What  has 
the  poor  child  done  to  make  you  want  to  drive  him 
away  so  cruelly  ?  " 

"  He  makes  a  fool  of  me,  I  tell  you,  Madame  Wife, 
and  I  do  not  intend  to  be  the  laughing-stock  of  the 
country.  He  has  made  himself  master  of  my  house, 
and  deserves  to  be  paid  with  a  cudgel  for  what  he 
has  done." 

It  was  some  time  before  Madeleine  could  under- 
stand what  her  husband  meant.  She  had  not  the 
slightest  conception  of  it,  and  brought  forward  all 
the  reasons  she  could  think  of  to  appease  him  and 
prevent  his  persisting  in  his  caprice. 

It  was  all  labor  lost,  for  he  only  grew  the  more 
furious;  and  when  he  saw  how  grieved  she  was  to 
lose  her  good  servant  Francois,  he  had  a  fresh  access 
of  jealousy,  and  spoke  so  brutally  that  his  meaning 
dawned  on  her  at  last,  and  she  began  to  cry  from 
mortification,  injured  pride,  and  bitter  sorrow. 

This  did  not  mend  matters;  Blanchet  swore  that 
she  was  in  love  with  this  bundle  of  goods  from  the 
asylum,  that  he  blushed  for  her,  and  that  if  she  did 
107 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

not  turn  the  waif  out  of  doors  without  delay,  he 
would  kill  him  and  grind  him  to  powder. 

Thereupon  she  answered  more  haughtily  than  was 
her  wont,  that  he  had  the  right  to  send  away  whom 
he  chose  from  his  house,  but  not  to  wound  and  in- 
sult his  faithful  wife,  and  that  she  would  complain  to 
God  and  all  the  saints  of  Heaven  of  his  cruel  and 
intolerable  injustice.  Thus,  in  spite  of  herself,  she 
came  gradually  to  reproach  him  with  his  evil  be- 
havior, and  confronted  him  with  the  plain  fact  that 
if  a  man  is  dissatisfied  with  his  own  cap,  he  tries  to 
throw  his  neighbor's  into  the  mud. 

It  went  from  bad  to  worse,  and  when  Blanchet 
finally  perceived  that  he  was  in  the  wrong,  anger 
was  his  only  resource.  He  threatened  to  shut  Made- 
leine's mouth  with  a  blow,  and  would  have  done  so, 
if  Jeannie  had  not  heard  the  noise  and  come  running 
in  between  them,  without  understanding  what  the 
matter  was,  but  quite  pale  and  discomfited  by  so 
much  wrangling.  When  Blanchet  ordered  him  away, 
the  child  cried,  and  his  father  took  occasion  to  say 
that  he  was  ill-brought-up,  a  cry-baby,  and  a  coward, 
and  that  his  mother  would  never  be  able  to  make 
anything  out  of  him.     Then  Blanchet  plucked  up 


108 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

courage,  and  rose,  brandishing  his  stick,  and  swear- 
ing that  he  would  kill  the  waif. 

When  Madeleine  saw  that  he  was  mad  with  pas- 
sion, she  threw  herself  boldly  in  front  of  him,  and  he, 
disconcerted  and  taken  by  surprise,  allowed  her  her 
way.  She  snatched  his  stick  out  of  his  hands  and 
threw  it  far  off  into  the  river,  and  then,  standing  her 
ground,  she  said: 

*'  You  shall  not  ruin  yourself  by  obeying  this 
wicked  impulse.  Reflect  that  calamity  is  swift  to 
follow  a  man  who  loses  his  self-control,  and  if  you 
have  no  feeling  for  others,  think  of  yourself  and  the 
probable  consequences  of  a  single  bad  action.  For  a 
long  time  you  have  been  guiding  your  life  amiss,  my 
husband,  and  now  you  are  hastening  faster  and  faster 
along  a  dangerous  road.  I  shall  prevent  you,  at  least 
for  to-day,  from  committing  a  worse  crime,  which 
would  bring  its  punishment  both  in  this  world  and 
the  next.  You  shall  not  kill;  return  to  where  you 
came  from,  rather  than  persevere  in  trying  to  revenge 
yourself  for  an  affront  which  was  not  offered.  Go 
away;  I  command  you  to  do  so  in  your  own  interest, 
and  this  is  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I  have  ever 
commanded  you  to  do  anything.  You  will  obey 
me,  because  you  will  see  that  I  still  observe  the  def- 
109 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

erence  I  owe  you.  I  swear  to  you  on  my  word  and 
honor  that  the  waif  shall  not  be  here  to-morrow,  and 
that  you  may  come  back  without  any  fear  of  meet- 
ing him." 

Having  said  this,  Madeleine  opened  the  door  of  the 
house  for  her  husband,  and  Cadet  Blanchet,  baffled 
by  the  novelty  of  her  manner,  and  pleased  in  the 
main  to  receive  her  submission  without  danger  to  his 
person,  clapped  his  hat  upon  his  head,  and  without 
another  word,  returned  to  Severe.  He  did  not  fail 
to  boast  to  her  and  to  others  that  he  had  adminis- 
tered a  sound  thrashing  to  his  wife  and  to  the  waif; 
but  as  this  was  not  true,  Severe's  pleasure  evaporated 
in  smoke. 

When  Madeleine  Blanchet  was  alone  again,  she 
sent  Jeannie  to  drive  the  sheep  and  the  goat  to 
pasture,  and  went  off  to  a  little  lonely  nook  beside 
the  mill-dam,  where  the  earth  was  much  eaten  away 
by  the  force  of  the  current,  and  the  place  so  crowded 
with  a  fresh  growth  of  branches  above  the  old  tree- 
stumps  that  you  could  not  see  two  steps  away  from 
you.  She  was  in  the  habit  of  going  there  to  pray, 
for  nobody  could  interrupt  her,  and  she  could  be  as 
entirely  concealed  behind  the  tall  weeds  as  a  water- 
hen  in  its  nest  of  green  leaves. 

I  10 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

As  soon  as  she  reached  there,  she  sank  on  her  knees 
to  seek  in  prayer  the  relief  she  so  needed.  But  though 
she  hoped  this  would  bring  great  comfort,  she  could 
think  of  nothing  but  the  poor  waif,  who  was  to  be 
sent  away,  and  who  loved  her  so  that  he  would  die 
of  grief.  So  nothing  came  to  her  lips,  except  that 
she  was  most  unhappy  to  lose  her  only  support  and 
separate  herself  from  the  child  of  her  heart.  Then 
she  cried  so  long  and  so  bitterly  that  she  was  suffo- 
cated, and,  falling  full  length  along  the  grass,  lay 
unconscious  for  more  than  an  hour,  and  it  is  a 
miracle  that  she  ever  came  to  herself. 

At  nightfall  she  made  an  effort  to  collect  her 
powers ;  and  when  she  heard  Jeannie  come  home 
singing  with  the  flock,  she  rose  with  difficulty  and 
set  about  preparing  supper.  Shortly  afterward,  she 
heard  the  noise  of  the  return  of  the  oxen,  who  were 
drawing  home  the  oak-tree  that  Blanchet  had  bought, 
and  Jeannie  ran  joyfully  to  meet  his  friend  Francois, 
whose  presence  he  had  missed  all  day.  Poor  little 
Jeannie  had  been  grieved  for  a  moment  by  his 
father's  cruel  behaviour  to  his  dear  mother,  and  he 
had  run  off  to  cry  in  the  fields,  without  knowing 
what  the  quarrel  could  be.  But  a  child's  sorrow 
lasts  no  longer  than  the  dew  of  the  morning,  and  he 
1 1 1 


FRANCOIS   THE  WAIF 

had  already  forgotten  his  trouble.  He  took  Francois 
by  the  hand,  and  skipping  as  gaily  as  a  little  par- 
tridge, brought  him  to  Madeleine. 

There  was  no  need  for  the  waif  to  look  twice 
to  see  that  her  eyes  were  reddened  and  her  face 
blanched. 

''  Good  God,"  thought  he,  "  some  misfortune  has 
happened."  Then  he  turned  pale  too,  and  trembled, 
fixing  his  eyes  on  Madeleine,  and  expecting  her  to 
speak  to  him.  She  made  him  sit  down,  and  set  hi? 
meal  before  him  in  silence,  but  he  could  not  swallow 
a  mouthful.  Jeannie  eat  and  prattled  on  by  himself;  he 
felt  no  uneasiness,  for  his  mother  kissed  him  from  time 
to  time  and  encouraged  him  to  make  a  good  supper. 

When  he  had  gone  to  bed,  and  the  servant  was 
putting  the  room  in  order,  Madeleine  went  out,  and 
beckoned  Francois  to  follow  her.  She  walked  through 
the  meadow  as  far  as  the  fountain,  and  then  calling 
all  her  courage  to  her  aid,  she  said: 

"My  child,  misfortune  has  fallen  upon  you  and 
me,  and  God  strikes  us  both  a  heavy  blow.  You  see 
how  much  I  suffer,  and  out  of  love  for  me,  try  to 
strengthen  your  own  heart,  for  if  you  do  not  uphold 
me,  I  cannot  tell  what  will  become  of  me." 

Francois  guessed  nothing,  although  he  at  once 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

supposed   that   the    trouble    came    from    Monsieur 
Blanchet. 

*'  What  are  you  saying?"  said  he  to  Madeleine, 
kissing  her  hands  as  if  she  were  his  mother.  "How 
can  you  think  that  I  shall  not  have  courage  to  com- 
fort and  sustain  you?  Am  not  I  your  servant  for  as 
long  as  I  have  to  stay  upon  the  earth?  Am  not  I 
your  child,  who  will  work  for  you,  and  is  now 
strong  enough  to  keep  you  from  want.  Leave  Mon- 
sieur Blanchet  alone,  let  him  squander  his  money, 
since  it  is  his  choice.  I  shall  feed  and  clothe  both  you 
and  our  Jeannie.  If  I  must  leave  you  for  a  time,  I 
shall  go  and  hire  myself  out,  though  not  far  from 
here,  so  that  I  can  see  you  every  day,  and  come  and 
spend  Sundays  with  you.  I  am  strong  enough  now 
to  work  and- earn  all  the  money  you  need.  You  are 
so  careful  and  live  on  so  little.  Now  you  will  not 
be  able  to  deny  yourself  so  many  things  for  others, 
and  you  will  be  the  better  for  it.  Come,  Madame 
Blanchet,  my  dear  mother,  calm  yourself  and  do  not 
cry,  or  I  think  I  shall  die  of  grief." 

When  Madeleine  saw  that  he  had  not  understood, 
and  that  she  must  tell  him  everything,  she  com- 
mended her  soul  to  God,  and  made  up  her  mind  to 
inflict  this  great  pain  upon  him. 
8  113 


CHAPTER    X 

NO,  FrarKpois,  my  son,"  said  she,  ''that  is  not 
it.  My  husband  is  not  yet  ruined,  as  far 
as  I  know  anything  of  his  affairs,  and  if  it  were  only 
the  fear  of  want,  you  would  not  see  me  so  unhappy. 
Nobody  need  dread  poverty  who  has  courage  to 
work.  Since  you  must  hear  why  it  is  that  I  am  so 
sick  at  heart,  let  me  tell  you  that  Monsieur  Blanchet 
is  in  a  fury  against  you,  and  will  no  longer  endure 
your  presence  in  his  house." 

'*  Is  that  it?"  cried  Francois,  springing  up.  "  He 
may  as  well  kill  me  outright,  as  I  cannot  live  after 
such  a  blow.  Yes,  let  him  put  an  end  to  me,  for  he 
has  long  disliked  me  and  longed  to  have  me  die,  I 
know.  Let  me  see,  where  is  he?  I  will  go  to  him 
and  say,  '  Tell  me  why  you  drive  me  away,  and  per- 
haps I  can  prove  to  you  that  ycu  are  mistaken  in 
your  reasons.  But  if  you  persist,  say  so,  that — 
that — '  I  do  not  know  what  I  am  saying,  Madeleine  ; 
114 


FRANgOlS  THE  WAIF 

truly,  I  do  not  know;  I  have  lost  my  senses,  and  I 
can  no  longer  see  clearly;  my  heart  is  pierced  and 
my  head  is  turning-  I  am  sure  I  shall  either  die  or 
go  mad." 

The  poor  waif  threw  himself  on  the  ground, 
and  struck  his  head  with  his  fists,  as  he  had  done 
when  Zabelle  had  tried  to  take  him  back  to  the 
asylum. 

When  Madeleine  saw  this,  her  high  spirit  returned. 
She  took  him  by  the  hands  and  arms,  and  shaking 
him,  forced  him  to  listen  to  her. 

"  If  you  have  no  more  resignation  and  strength  of 
will  than  a  child,"  said  she,  ''you  do  not  deserve  my 
love,  and  you  will  shame  me  for  bringing  you  up  as 
my  son.  Get  up.  You  are  a  man  in  years,  and  a 
man  should  not  roll  on  the  ground,  as  you  are  doing. 
Listen,  Francois,  and  tell  me  whether  you  love  me 
enough  to  go  without  seeing  me  for  a  time.  Look, 
my  child,  it  is  for  my  peace  and  good  name,  for 
otherwise  my  husband  will  subject  me  to  annoy- 
ance and  humiliation.  So  you  must  leave  me  to-day, 
out  of  love,  just  as  I  have  kept  you,  out  of  love,  to 
this  day;  for  love  shows  itself  in  different  ways  ac- 
cording to  time  and  circumstance.  You  must  leave 
me  without  delay,  because,  in  order  to  prevent  Mon- 
115 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

sieur  Blanchet  from  committing  a  crime,  I  promised 
that  you  should  be  gone  to-morrow  morning.  To- 
morrow is  Sajnt  John's  day,  and  you  must  go  and 
find  a  place ;  but  not  too  near  at  hand,  for  if  we 
were  able  to  see  each  other  every  day,  it  would  be 
all  the  worse  in  Monsieur  Blanchet's  mind." 

"  What  has  he  in  his  mind,  Madeleine?  Of  what 
does  he  complain?  How  have  1  behaved  amiss? 
Does  he  think  that  you  rob  the  house  to  help  me? 
That  cannot  be,  because  now  I  am  one  of  his 
household.  I  eat  only  enough  to  satisfy  my  hunger, 
and  I  do  not  steal  a  pin  from  him.  Perhaps  he  thinks 
that  I  take  my  wages,  and  that  I  cost  him  too  much. 
Very  well,  let  me  follow  out  my  purpose  of  going  to 
explain  to  him  that  since  my  poor  mother  Zabelle 
died,  1  have  never  received  a  single  penny ;  or,  if 
you  do  not  want  me  to  tell  him  this, — and  indeed 
if  he  knew  it,  he  would  try  to  make  you  pay  back 
all  the  money  due  on  my  wages  that  you  have  spent 
in  charity — well,  I  will  make  him  this  proposition 
for  the  next  year.  I  will  offer  to  remain  in  your  ser- 
vice for  nothing.  In  this  way  he  cannot  think  me 
a  burden,  and  will  allow  me  to  stay  with  you." 

''No,  no,  no,  Francois,"  cried  Madeleine,  hastily, 
''\i  is  not  possible;  and  if  you  said  this  to  him,  he 
ii6 


FRANCOIS   THE   WAIF 

would  fly  into  such  a  rage  with  you  and  me  that 
worse  would  come  of  it." 

^'  But  why?  "  asked  Franfois;  *'  what  is  he  angry 
about?  Is  it  only  for  the  pleasure  of  making  us  un- 
happy that  he  pretends  to  mistrust  me  ?  " 

"  My  child,  do  not  ask  the  reason  of  his  anger  for 
I  cannot  tell  you.  I  should  be  too  much  ashamed, 
and  you  had  better  not  even  try  to  guess;  but  I  can 
assure  you  that  your  duty  toward  me  is  to  go  away. 
You  are  tall  and  strong,  and  can  do  without  me; 
and  you  will  earn  your  living  better  elsewhere,  as 
long  as  you  will  take  nothing  from  me.  All  sons 
have  to  leave  their  mothers  when  they  go  out  to 
work,  and  many  go  far  away.  You  must  go  like  the 
rest,  and  I  shall  grieve  as  all  mothers  do.  I  shall 
weep  for  you  and  think  of  you,  and  pray  God  morn- 
ing and  evening  to  shield  you  from  all  ill." 

''  Yes,  and  you  will  take  another  servant  who  will 
serve  you  ill,  who  will  take  no  care  of  your  son  or 
your  property,  who  will  perhaps  hate  you,  if  Mon- 
sieur Blanchet  orders  him  not  to  obey  you,  and  will 
repeat  and  misrepresent  to  him  all  the  kind  things 
you  do.  You  may  be  unhappy,  and  I  shall  not  be 
with  you  to  protect  and  comfort  you.  Ah!  you 
think  that  I  have  no  courage  because  I  am  miser- 

.8*  ,,7 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

able  ?  You  believe  that  I  am  thinking  only  of  my- 
self, and  tell  me  that  I  shall  earn  more  money  else- 
where! I  am  not  thinking  of  myself  at  all.  What 
is  it  to  me  whether  I  gain  or  lose  ?  I  do  not  even 
care  to  know  whether  I  shall  be  able  to  control  my 
despair.  I  shall  live  or  die  as  may  please  God,  and  it 
makes  no  difference  to  me,  as  long  as  I  am  pre- 
vented from  devoting  my  life  to  you.  What  gives 
me  intolerable  anguish  is  that  I  see  trouble  ahead  for 
you.  You  will  be  trampled  upon  in  your  turn,  and 
if  Monsieur  Blanchet  puts  me  out  of  the  way,  it 
is  that  he  may  the  more  easily  walk  over  your 
rights." 

^^Even  if  God  permits  this,"  said  Madeleine,  "\ 
must  bear  what  I  cannot  help.  It  is  wrong  to  make 
one's  fate  worse  by  kicking  against  the  pricks.  You 
know  that  I  am  very  unhappy,  and  you  may  imagine 
how  much  more  wretched  I  should  be  if  I  learned 
that  you  were  ill,  disgusted  with  life,  and  unwilling 
to  be  comforted.  But  if  I  can  find  any  consolation 
in  my  affliction,  it  will  be  because  I  hear  that  you 
are  well  behaved,  and  keep  up  your  health  and  cour- 
age out  of  love  for  me." 

This  last  excellent  reason  gave  Madeleine  the  ad- 
vantage. The  waif  gave  in,  and  promised  on  his 
ii8 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

knees,  as  if  in  the  confessional,  that  he  would  do  his 
best  to  bear  his  sorrow  bravely. 

**  Then,"  said  he,  as  he  wiped  his  eyes,  ''  if  I  must 
go  to-morrow  morning,  I  shall  say  good-by  to  you 
now,  my  mother  Madeleine.  Farewell,  for  this  life, 
perhaps;  for  you  do  not  tell  me  if  I  shall  ever  see 
you  and  talk  with  you  again.  If  you  do  not  think 
I  shall  ever  have  such  happiness,  do  not  say  so,  for  I 
should  lose  courage  to  live.  Let  me  keep  the  hope 
of  meeting  you  one  day  here  by  this  clear  fountain, 
where  I  met  you  the  first  time  nearly  eleven  years 
ago.  From  that  day  to  this,  I  have  had  nothing  but 
happiness;  I  must  not  forget  all  the  joys  that  God 
has  given  me  through  you,  but  shall  keep  them  in 
remembrance,  so  that  they  may  help  me  to  bear, 
from  to-morrow  onward,  all  that  time  and  fate  may 
bring.  I  carry  away  a  heart  pierced  and  benumbed 
with  anguish,  knowing  that  you  are  unhappy,  and 
that  in  me  you  lose  your  best  friend.  You  tell  me 
that  your  distress  will  be  greater  if  I  do  not  take 
heart,  so  I  shall  sustain  myself  as  best  I  may,  by 
thoughts  of  you,  and  I  value  your  affection  too 
much  to  forfeit  it  by  cowardice.  Farewell,  Madame 
Blanchet;  leave  me  here  alone  a  little  while;  I  shall 
feel  better  when  I  have  cried  my  fill.  If  any  of  my 
119 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

tears  fall  into  this  fountain,  you  will  think  of  me 
whenever  you  come  to  wash  here.  I  am  going  to 
gather  some  of  this  mint  to  perfume  my  linen.  I 
must  soon  pack  my  bundle ;  and  as  long  as  I  smell 
the  sweet  fragrance  among  my  clothes,  I  shall  ima- 
gine that  I  am  here  and  see  you  before  me.  Fare- 
well, farewell,  my  dear  mother;  I  shall  not  go  back 
with  you  to  the  house.  I  might  kiss  little  Jeannie, 
without  waking  him,  but  I  have  not  the  heart.  You 
must  kiss  him  for  me;  and  to  keep  him  from  crying, 
please  tell  him  to-morrow  that  I  am  coming  back 
soon.  So,  while  he  is  expecting  me,  he  will  have 
time  to  forget  me  a  little;  and  then  later,  you  must 
talk  to  him  of  poor  Franpois,  so  that  he  may  not  for- 
get me  too  much.  Give  me  your  blessing,  Made- 
leine, as  you  gave  it  to  me  on  the  day  of  my  first 
communion,  for  it  will  bring  with  it  the  grace  of 
God." 

The  poor  waif  knelt  down  before  Madeleine,  en- 
treating her  to  forgive  him  if  he  had  ever  offended 
her  against  his  will. 

Madeleine  declared  that  she  had  nothing  to  forgive 
him,  and  that  she  wished  her  blessing  could  prove 
as  beneficent  as  that  of  God. 

"Now,"  said  Fran(;:ois,  "that  I  am  again  a  waif, 

120 


/  FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

and  that  nobody  will  ever  love  me  any  more,  will 
not  you  kiss  me  as  you  once  kissed  me,  in  kindness, 
•  on  the  day  of  my  first  communion  ?  I  shall  need  to 
remember  this,  so  that  I  may  be  very  sure  that  you 
still  love  me  in  your  heart,  like  a  mother." 

Madeleine  kissed  the  waif  in  the  same  pure  spirit 
as  when  he  was  a  little  child.  Yet  anybody  who 
had  seen  her  would  have  fancied  there  was  some 
justification  for  Monsieur  Blanchet's  anger,  and  would 
have  blamed  this  faithful  woman,  who  had  no 
thought  of  ill,  and  whose  action  could  not  have  dis- 
pleased the  Virgin  Mary. 

''Nor  me,  either,"  put  in  the  priest's  servant. 
''And  me  still  less,"  returned  the  hemp-dresser. 
Then  he  resumed: 

She  returned  to  the  house,  but  not  to  sleep.  She 
heard  Francois  come  in  and  do  up  his  bundle  in  the 
next  room,  and  she  heard  him  go  out  again  at  day- 
break. She  did  not  get  up  till  he  had  gone  some 
little  distance,  so  as  not  to  weaken  his  courage,  but 
when  she  heard  his  steps  on  the  little  bridge,  she 
opened  the  door  a  crack,  without  allowing  herself  to 
be   seen,  so  that    she  might  catch   one   more   last 

121 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

glioipse  of  him.  She  saw  him  stop  and  look  back 
at  the  river  and  mill,  as  if  to  bid  them  farewell. 
Then  he  strode  away  very  rapidly,  after  first  picking 
a  branch  of  poplar  and  putting  it  in  his  hat,  as  men 
do  when  they  go  out  for  hire,  to  show  that  they  are 
trying  to  find  a  place. 

Master  Blanchet  came  in  toward  noon,  but  did  not 
speak  till  his  wife  said: 

''  You  must  go  out  and  hire  another  boy  for  your 
mill,  for  Francois  has  gone,  and  you  are  without  a 
servant." 

'*  That  is  quite  enough,  wife,"  answered  Blanchet. 
*M  shall  go,  but  I  warn  you  not  to  expect  another 
young  fellow." 

As  these  were  all  the  thanks  he  gave  her  for  her 
submission,  her  feelings  were  so  much  wounded  that 
she  could  not  help  showing  it. 

"  Cadet  Blanchet,"  said  she,  *^  I  have  obeyed  your 
"will;  1  have  sent  an  excellent  boy  away  without  a 
motive,  and  I  must  confess  that  I  did  so  with  regret. 
1  do  not  ask  for  your  gratitude,  but,  in  my  turn,  I 
have  something  to  command  you,  and  that  is  not  to 
insult  me,  for  I  do  not  deserve  it." 

She  said  this  in  a  manner  so  new  to  Blanchet,  that 
it  produced  its  effect  on  him. 


FRANgOIS   THE  WAIF 

''Come,  wife,"  said  he,  holding  out  his  hand  to 
her,  'Mfet  us  make  a  truce  to  all  this,  and  think  na 
more  about  it.  Perhaps  I  may  have  been  a  little 
hasty  in  what  I  said;  but  you  see  I  had  my  own 
reasons  for  not  trusting  the  waif.  The  devil  is  the 
father  of  all  those  children,  and  he  is  always  after 
them.  They  may  be  good  in  some  ways,  but  they 
are  sure  to  be  scamps  in  others.  I  know  that  it  will 
be  hard  for  me  to  find  another  such  hard  worker  for 
a  servant;  but  the  devil,  who  is  a  good  father,  had 
whispered  wantonness  into  that  boy's  ear,  and  I 
know  one  woman  who  had  a  complaint  against 
him." 

''That  woman  is  not  your  wife,"  rejoined  Made- 
leine, "  and  she  may  be  lying.  Even  if  she  told  the 
truth,  that  would  be  no  cause  for  suspecting  me." 

"  Do  I  suspect  you?"  said  Blanchet,  shrugging  his 
shoulders.  "My  grudge  was  only  against  him,  and 
now  that  he  has  gone,  I  have  forgotten  about  it.  If  I 
said  anything  displeasing  to  you,  you  must  take  it 
in  jest." 

"Such  jests  are  not  to  my  taste,"  answered  Made-^ 
leine.     "  Keep  them  for  those  who  like  them." 


123 


CHAPTER    XI 

MADELEINE  bore  her  sorrow  very  well  at  first. 
She  heard  from  her  new  servant,  who  had  met 
with  Fran(pois,  that  he  had  been  hired  for  eighteen  pis- 
toles a  year  by  a  farmer,  who  had  a  good  mill  and 
some  land  over  toward  Aigurande.  She  was  happy 
to  know  that  he  had  found  a  good  place,  and  did  her 
utmost  to  return  to  her  occupations,  without  griev- 
ing too  much.  In  spite  of  her  efforts,  however,  she 
fell  ill  for  a  long  time  of  a  low  fever,  and  pined  quietly 
away,  without  anybody's  noticing  it.  Francois  was 
right  when  he  said  that  in  him  she  lost  her  best  friend. 
She  was  sad  and  lonely,  and,  having  nobody  to  talk 
with,  she  petted  all  the  more  her  son  Jeannie,  who 
was  a  very  nice  boy,  as  gentle  as  a  lamb. 

But  he  was  too  young  to  understand  all  that  she 

had  to  say  of  Francois,  and,  besides,  he  showed  her 

no  such  kind  cares  and  attentions  as  the  waif  had 

done  at  his  age.  Jeannie  loved  his  mother,  more  even 

124 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

than  children  ordinarily  do,  because  she  was  such  a 
mother  as  is  hard  to  find;  but  he  never  felt  the  same 
wonder  and  emotion  about  her  as  Francois  did.  He 
thought  it  quite  natural  to  be  so  tenderly  loved  and 
caressed.  He  received  it  as  his  portion,  and  counted 
on  it  as  his  due,  whereas  the  waif  had  never  been 
unmindful  of  the  slightest  kindness  from  her,  and 
made  his  gratitude  so  apparent  in  his  behavior,  his 
words  and  looks,  his  blushes  and  tears,  that  when 
Madeleine  was  with  him  she  forgot  that  her  home 
was  bereft  of  peace,  love,  and  comfort. 

When  she  was  left  again  forlorn,  all  this  evil  re- 
turned upon  her,  and  she  meditated  long  on  the  i 
sorrows  which  Francois's  affectionate  companionship 
had  kept  in  abeyance.  Now  she  had  nobody  to  read 
with  her,  to  help  her  in  caring  for  the  poor,  to  pray 
with  her,  or  even  now  and  then  to  exchange  a  few 
frank,  good-natured  jests  with  her.  Nothing  that  she 
saw  or  did  gave  her  any  more  pleasure,  and  her 
thoughts  wandered  back  to  the  time  when  she  had 
with  her  such  a  kind,  gentle,  and  loving  friend. 
Whether  she  went  into  her  vineyard,  into  her  or- 
chard, or  into  the  mill,  there  was  not  a  spot  as  large 
as  a  pocket-handkerchief,  that  she  had  not  passed 
over  ten  thousand  times,  with  this  child  clinging  to 
125 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

her  skirts,  or  this  faithful,  zealous  friend  at  her  side. 
It  was  as  if  she  had  lost  a  son  of  great  worth  and 
promise;  and  it  was  in  vain  she  heaped  her  affection 
on  the  one  who  still  remained,  for  half  her  heart  was 
left  untenanted. 

Her  husband  saw  that  she  was  wearing  away,  and 
felt  some  pity  for  her  languid,  melancholy  looks.  He 
feared  lest  she  might  fall  seriously  ill,  and  was  loath 
to  lose  her,  as  she  was  a  skilful  manager,  and  saved 
on  her  side  as  much  as  he  wasted  on  his.  As  Severe 
would  not  allow  him  to  attend  to  his  mill,  he  knew 
that  his  business  would  go  to  pieces  if  Madeleine  no 
longer  had  the  charge  of  it,  and  though  he  continued 
to  upbraid  her  from  habit,  and  complained  of  her 
lack  of  care,  he  knew  that  nobody  else  would  serve 
him  better. 

He  exerted  himself  to  contrive  some  means  of  cur- 
ing her  of  her  sickness  and  sorrow,  and  just  at  this 
juncture  it  happened  that  his  uncle  died.  His 
youngest  sister  had  been  under  this  uncle's  guar- 
dianship, and  now  she  fell  into  his  own  care.  He 
thought,  at  first,  of  sending  the  girl  to  live  with 
Severe,  but  his  other  relations  made  him  ashamed  of 
this  project ;  and,  besides,  when  Severe  found  that 
the  girl  was  only  just  fifteen,  and  promised  to  be  as 
126 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

fair  as  the  day,  she  had  no  further  desire  to  be  in- 
trusted with  such  a  charge,  and  told  Blanchet  that 
she  was  afraid  of  the  risks  attendant  on  the  care  of 
a  young  girl. 

So  Blanchet — who  saw  that  he  should  gain  some- 
thing by  being  his  sister's  guardian,  as  the  uncle, 
who  had  brought  her  up,  had  left  her  money  in  his 
will;  and  who  was  unwilling  to  place  her  with  any 
of  his  other  relations — brought  her  home  to  his  mill, 
and  requested  his  wife  to  treat  her  as  a  sister  and 
companion,  to  teach  her  to  work,  and  let  her  share 
in  the  household  labors,  and  yet  to  make  the  task  so 
easy  that  she  should  have  no  desire  to  go  elsewhere. 

Madeleine  acquiesced  gladly  in  this  family  arrange- 
ment. She  liked  Mariette  Blanchet  from  the  first  for 
the  sake  of  her  beauty,  the  very  cause  for  which 
Severe  had  disliked  her.  She  believed,  too,  that  a 
sweet  disposition  and  a  good  heart  always  go  with 
a  pretty  face,  and  she  received  the  young  girl  not  so 
much  as  a  sister  as  a  daughter,  who  might  perhaps 
take  the  place  of  poor  Franpois. 

During  all  this  time  poor  Francois  bore  his  trouble 

with  as  much  patience  as  he  had,  and  this  was  none 

at  all;  for  never  was  man  nor  boy  visited  with  so 

heavy  an  affliction.    He  fell  ill,  in  the  first  place,  and 

127 


FRANCOIS   THE  WAIF 

^  this  was  almost  fortunate  for  him,  for  it  proved  the 
kindness  of  his  master's  family,  who  would  not 
allow  him  to  be  sent  to  the  hospital,  but  kept  him 
at  home,  and  tended  him  carefully.  The  miller,  his 
present  master,  was  most  unlike  Cadet  Blanchet,  and 
his  daughter,  who  was  about  thirty  years  old,  and 
not  yet  married,  had  a  reputation  for  her  charities 
and  good  conduct. 

These  good  people  plainly  saw,  too,  in  spite  of  the 
waifs  illness,  that  they  had  found  a  treasure  in  him. 

He  was  so  strong  and  well-built  that  he  threw 
off  his  disease  more  quickly  than  most  people,  and 
though  he  set  to  work  before  he  was  cured,  he  had 
no  relapse.  His  conscience  spurred  him  on  to  make 
up  for  lost  time  and  repay  his  master  and  mistress  for 
their  kindness.  He  still  felt  ill  for  more  than  two 
months,  and  every  morning,  when  he  began  his 
work,  he  was  as  giddy  as  if  he  had  just  fallen  from 
the  roof  of  a  house,  but  little  by  little  he  warmed 
up  to  it,  and  never  told  the  trouble  it  cost  him  to 
begin.  The  miller  and  his  daughter  were  so  well 
pleased  with  him  that  they  intrusted  him  with  the 
management  of  many  things  which  were  far  above 
his  position.  When  they  found  that  he  could  read 
and  write,  they  made  him  keep  the  accounts,  which 
128 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

had  never  been  kept  before,  and  the  need  of  which 
had  often  involved  the  mill  in  difficulties.  In  short, 
he  was  as  well  off  as  was  compatible  with  his  mis- 
fortune; and  as  he  had  the  prudence  to  refrain  from 
saying  that  he  was  a  foundling,  nobody  reproached 
him  with  his  origin. 

But  neither  the  kind  treatment  he  received,  nor  his 
work,  nor  his  illness,  could  make  him  forget  Made- 
leine, his  dear  mill  at  Cormouer,  his  little  Jeannie, 
and  the  graveyard  where  Zabelle  was  lying.  His 
heart  was  always  far  away,  and  on  Sundays  he 
did  nothing  but  brood,  and  so  had  no  rest  from  the 
labors  of  the  week.  He  was  at  such  a  distance  from 
his  home,  which  was  more  than  six  leagues  off,  that 
no  news  from  it  ever  reached  him.  He  thought  at 
first  that  he  would  become  used  to  this,  but  he  was 
consumed  with  anxiety,  and  tried  to  invent  means 
of  finding  out  about  Madeleine,  at  least  twice  a 
year.  He  went  to  the  fairs  for  the  purpose  of  meet- 
ing some  acquaintance  from  the  old  place,  and  if  he 
saw  one,  he  made  inquiries  about  all  his  friends,  be- 
ginning prudently  with  those  for  whom  he  cared 
least,  and  leading  up  to  Madeleine,  who  interested 
him  most;  and  thus  he  had  some  tidings  of  her  and 
her  family. 

9  129 


FRANgOIS   THE  WAIF 

'^  But  it  is  growing  late,  my  friends,  and  I  am 
going  to  sleep  in  the  middle  of  my  story.  I  shall  go 
on  with  it  to-morrow,  if  you  care  to  hear  it.  Good 
night,  all." 

The  hemp-dresser  went  off  to  bed,  and  the  farmer 
lit  his  lantern  and  took  Mother  Monique  back  to  the 
parsonage,  for  she  was  an  old  woman,  and  could  not 
see  her  way  clearly. 


130 


T 


CHAPTER    XII 

HE  next  evening  we    all    met   again   at  the 
farm,  and  the  hemp-dresser  resumed  his  story : 


Franpois  had  been  living  about  three  years  in  the 
country  of  Aigurande,  near  Villechiron,  in  a  hand- 
some mill  which  is  called  Haut-Champault,  or  Bas- 
Champault,  or  Frechampault,  for  Champault  is  as 
common  a  name  in  that  country  as  in  our  own.  I 
have  been  twice  into  those  parts,  and  know  what  a 
fine  country  it  is.  The  peasants  there  are  richer,  and 
better  lodged  and  fed;  there  is  more  business  there, 
and  though  the  earth  is  less  fertile,  it  is  more  pro- 
ductive. The  land  is  more  broken ;  it  is  pierced  by 
rocks  and  washed  by  torrents,  but  it  is  fair  and  pleas- 
ant to  the  eye.  The  trees  are  marvelously  beautiful, 
and  two  streams,  clear  as  crystal,  rush  noisily  along 
through  their  deep-cut  channels. 

The  mills  there  are  more  considerable  than  ours, 
131 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

and  the  one  where  Francois  lived  was  among  the 
richest  and  best.  One  winter  day,  his  master,  by 
name  Jean  Vertaud,  said  to  him: 

"  Francois,  my  servant  and  friend,  I  have  some- 
thing to  ^say  to  you,  and  I  ask  for  your  attention. 

**  You  and  I  have  known  each  other  for  some 
little  time.  I  have  done  very  well  in  my  business, 
and  my  mill  has  prospered;  I  have  succeeded  better 
than  others  of  my  trade;  in  short,  my  fortune  has  in- 
creased, and  I  do  not  conceal  from  myself  that  I  owe 
it  all  to  you.  You  have  served  me  not  as  a  servant, 
but  as  a  friend  and  relation.  You  have  devoted 
yourself  to  my  interests  as  if  they  were  your  own. 
You  have  managed  my  property  better  than  I  knew 
how  to  do  myself,  and  have  shown  yourself  pos- 
sessed of  more  knowledge  and  intelligence  than  I. 
I  am  not  suspicious  by  nature,  and  I  should  have 
been  often  cheated  if  you  had  not  kept  watch  of  all 
the  people  and  things  about  me.  Those  who  were 
in  the  habit  of  abusing  my  good  nature,  complained, 
and  you  bore  the  brunt  boldly,  though  more  than 
once  you  exposed  yourself  to  dangers,  which  you 
escaped  only  by  your  courage  and  gentleness.  What 
1  like  most  about  you  is  that  your  heart  is  as  good 
as  your  head  and  hand.  You  love  order^  but  not 
»32 


FRANgOIS   THE  WAIF 

avarice.  You  do  not  allow  yourself  to  be  duped,  as 
I  do,  and  yet  you  are  as  fond  of  helping  your  neigh- 
bor as  I  can  be.  You  were  the  first  to  advise  me  to 
be  generous  in  real  cases  of  need,  but  you  were 
quick  to  hold  me  back  from  giving  to  those  who 
were  merely  making  a  pretense  of  distress.  You 
have  sense  and  originality.  The  ideas  you  put  into 
practice  are  always  successful,  and  whatever  you 
touch  turns  to  good  account. 

'M  am  well  pleased  with  you,  and  I  should  like, 
on  my  part,  to  do  something  for  you.  Tell  me 
frankly  what  you  want,  for  I  shall  refuse  you 
nothing." 

'M  do  not  know  why  you  say  this,"  answered 
Francois.  '*  You  must  think,  Master  Vertaud,  that  I 
am  dissatisfied  with  you,  but  it  is  not  so.  You  may 
be  sure  of  that." 

'M  do  not  say  that  you  are  dissatisfied,  but  you 
do  not  generally  look  like  a  happy  man.  Your 
spirits  are  not  good.  You  never  laugh  and  jest,  nor 
take  any  amusement.  You  are  as  sober  as  if  you 
were  in  mourning  for  somebody." 

*^Do  you  blame  me  for  this,  master?  I  shall 
never  be  able  to  please  you  in  this  respect,  for  I  am 
fond  neither  of  the  bottle  nor  of  the  dance;  I  go 
9*  133 


FRANgOIS  THE   WAIF 

neither  to  the  tavern  nor  to  balls;  I  know  no  funny 
stories  nor  nonsense.  I  care  for  nothing  which 
might  distract  me  from  my  duty." 

''  You  deserve  to  be  held  in  high  esteem  for  this, 
my  boy,  and  I  am  not  going  to  blame  you  for  it.  I 
mention  it,  because  I  believe  that  there  is  something 
on  your  mind.  Perhaps  you  think  that  you  are  tak- 
ing a  great  deal  of  trouble  on  behalf  of  other  people, 
and  are  but  poorly  paid  for  it." 

'  ^  You  are  wrong  in  thinking  so,  Master  Vertaud. 
My  reward  is  as  great  as  I  could  wish,  and  perhaps  I 
could  never  have  found  elsewhere  the  high  wages 
which  you  are  willing  to  allow  me,  of  your  own  free 
will,  and  without  any  urging  from  me.  You  have 
increased  them,  too,  every  year,  and,  on  Saint  John's 
day  last,  you  fixed  them  at  a  hundred  crowns,  which 
is  a  very  large  price  for  you  to  pay.  If  you  suffer 
any  inconvenience  from  it,  I  assure  you  that  I  should 
gladly  relinquish  it." 


134 


CHAPTER    XIII 


*'  /^^OME,  come,  Franfois,  we  do  not  understand 

V^  each  other,"  returned  Master  Jean  Vertaud; 
'*  and  I  do  not  know  how  to  take  you.  You  are  no 
fool,  and  I  think  my  hints  have  been  broad  enough; 
but  you  are  so  shy  that  I  will  help  you  out  still 
further.  Are  not  you  in  love  with  some  girl  about 
here?" 

''  No,  master,"  was  the  waifs  honest  answer. 

''Truly?" 

''  I  give  you  my  word." 

''  Don't  you  know  one  who  might  please  you,  if 
you  were  able  to  pay  your  court  to  her  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  marry." 

''What  an  idea!  You  are  too  young  to  answer 
for  that.    What  's  your  reason  ?  " 

"My  reason?  Do  you  really  care  to  know, 
master?" 

"  Yes,  because  I  feel  an  interest  in  you." 
^}5 


FRANCOIS   THE   WAIF 

''  Then  I  will  tell  you;  there  is  no  occasion  for  me 
to  hide  it:  I  have  never  known  father  or  mother. 
And  there  is  something  I  have  never  told  you;  I  was 
not  obliged  to  do  so;  but  if  you  had  asked  me,  I 
should  have  told  you  the  truth:  I  am  a  waif;  I 
come  from  the  foundling  asylum." 

'Ms  it  possible?"  exclaimed  Jean  Vertaud,  some- 
what taken  aback  by  this  confession.  "  I  should 
never  have  thought  it." 

"  Why  should  you  never  have  thought  it?  You  do 
not  answer,  Master  Vertaud.  Very  well,  I  shall  an- 
swer for  you.  You  saw  that  I  was  a  good  fellow, 
and  you  could  not  believe  that  a  waif  could  be  like 
that.  It  is  true,  then,  that  nobody  has  confidence  in 
waifs,  and  that  there  is  a  prejudice  against  them.  It 
is  not  just  or  humane;  but  since  such  a  prejudice 
exists,  everybody  must  conform  to  it,  and  the  best 
people  are  not  exempt,  since  you  yourself — " 

"  No,  no,"  said  Master  Vertaud,  with  a  revulsion 
of  feeling,  for  he  was  a  just  man,  and  always  ready 
to  abjure  a  false  notion;  "  I  do  not  wish  to  fail  in 
justice,  and  if  I  forgot  myself  for  a  moment,  you 
must  forgive  me,  for  that  is  all  past  now.  So,  you 
think  you  cannot  marry,  because  you  were  born  a 
waif?  " 

136 


FRANgOIS  THE   WAIF 

''Not  at  all,  master;  I  do  not  consider  that  an  ob- 
stacle. There  are  all  sorts  of  women,  and  some  of 
them  are  so  kind-hearted  that  my  misfortune  might 
prove  an  inducement." 

"  That  is  true,"  cried  Jean  Vertaud.  "  Women  are 
better  than  we  are.  Yet,"  he  continued,  with  a 
laugh,  ''  a  fine  handsome  fellow  like  you,  in  the 
flower  of  youth,  and  without  any  defect  of  body  or 
mind,  might  very  well  add  a  zest  to  the  pleasure  of 
being  charitable.     But  come,  give  me  your  reason." 

''  Listen,"  said  Francois.  'M  was  taken  from  the 
asylum  and  nursed  by  a  woman  whom  I  never 
knew.  At  her  death  I  was  intrusted  to  another 
woman,  who  received  me  for  the  sake  of  the  slen- 
der pittance  granted  by  the  government  to  those  of 
my  kind  ;  but  she  was  good  to  me,  and  when  I  was 
so  unfortunate  as  to  lose  her,  I  should  never  have 
been  comforted  but  for  the  help  of  another  woman, 
who  was  the  best  of  the  three,  and  whom  I  still  love 
so  much,  that  I  am  unwilling  to  live  for  any  other 
woman  but  her.  I  have  left  her,  and  perhaps  I  may 
never  see  her  again,  for  she  is  well  off,  and  may 
never  have  need  of  me.  Still,  her  husband  has  had 
many  secret  expenses,  and  I  have  heard  that  he  has 
been  ill  since  autumn,  so  it  may  be  that  he  will  die 
'37 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

before  long,  and  leave  her  with  more  debts  than 
property.  If  this  happened,  master,  I  do  not  deny 
that  I  should  return  to  the  place  she  lives  in,  and 
that  my  only  care  and  desire  would  be  to  assist  her 
and  her  son,  and  keep  them  from  poverty  by  my  toil. 
That  is  my  reason  for  not  undertaking  any  engage- 
ment which  would  bind  me  elsewhere.  You  employ 
me  by  the  year,  but  if  I  married,  I  should  be  tied  for 
life.  I  should  be  assuming  too  many  duties  at  once. 
If  I  had  a  wife  and  children,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed 
that  I  could  earn  enough  bread  for  two  families; 
neither  is  it  to  be  supposed,  if,  by  extraordinary  luck, 
I  found  a  wife  with  some  money  of  her  own,  that  I 
should  have  the  right  to  deprive  my  house  of  its 
comforts,  to  bestow  them  upon  another's.  Thus  I 
expect  to  remain  a  bachelor.  I  am  young,  and  have 
time  enough  before  me;  but  if  some  fancy  for  a  girl 
should  enter  my  head,  I  should  try  to  get  rid  of  it; 
because,  do  you  see,  there  is  but  one  woman  in  the 
world  for  me,  and  that  is  my  mother  Madeleine,  who 
never  despised  me  for  being  a  waif,  but  brought  me 
up  as  her  own  child." 

"  Is  that  it?  "  answered  Jean  Vert^ud.  ''  My  dear 
fellow,  what  you  tell  me  only  increases  my  esteem 
for  you.     Nothing  is  so   ugly   as  ingratitude,  and 

.38 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

nothing  so  beautiful  as  the  memory  of  benefits  re- 
ceived. 1  may  have  some  good  reasons  for  showing 
you  that  you  could  marry  a  young  woman  of  the 
same  mind  as  yourself,  who  would  join  you  in  aid- 
ing your  old  friend,  but  they  are  reasons  which  I 
must  think  over,  and  I  must  ask  somebody  else's 
opinion." 

No  great  cleverness  was  necessary  to  guess  that 
Jean  Vertaud,  with  his  honest  heart  and  sound  judg- 
ment, had  conceived  of  a  marriage  between  his 
daughter  and  Francois.  His  daughter  was  comely, 
and  though  she  was  somewhat  older  than  Francois, 
she  had  money  enough  to  make  up  the  difference. 
She  was  an  only  child,  and  a  fine  match,  but  up  to 
this  time,  to  her  father's  great  vexation,  she  had 
refused  to  marry.  He  had  observed  lately  that  she 
thought  a  great  deal  of  Francois,  and  had  questioned 
her  about  him,  but  as  she  was  a  very  reserved  per- 
son, he  had  some  difficulty  in  extorting  any  con- 
fession from  her.  Finally,  without  giving  a  positive 
answer,  she  consented  to  allow  her  father  to  sound 
Franfois  on  the  subject  of  marriage,  and  awaited 
the  result  with  more  uneasiness  than  she  cared  to 
show. 

Jean  Vertaud  was  disappointed  that  he  had  not  a 
^39 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

more  satisfactory  answer  to  carry  to  her;  first,  be- 
cause he  was  so  anxious  to  have  her  married,  and 
next,  because  he  could  not  wish  for  a  better  son-in- 
law  than  Francois.  Besides  the  affection  he  felt  for 
him,  he  saw  clearly  that  the  poor  boy  who  had 
come  to  him  was  worth  his  weight  in  gold,  on  ac- 
count of  his  intelligence,  his  quickness  at  his  work, 
and  his  good  conduct. 

The  young  woman  was  a  little  pained  to  hear  that 
Franfois  was  a  foundling.  She  was  a  trifle  proud, 
but  she  made  up  her  mind  quickly,  and  her  liking 
became  more  pronounced  when  she  learned  that 
Francois  was  backward  in  love.  Women  go  by  con- 
traries, and  if  Fran9ois  had  schemed  to  obtain  indul- 
gence for  the  irregularity  of  his  birth,  he  could  have 
contrived  no  more  artful  device  that  that  of  showing 
a  distaste  toward  marriage. 

So  it  happened  that  Jean  Vertaud's  daughter  de- 
cided in  Francois's  favor,  that  day,  for  the  first  time. 

^'  Is  that  all?  "  said  she  to  her  father.  ''  Does  n't 
he  think  that  we  should  have  both  the  desire  and 
the  means  to  aid  an  old  woman  and  find  a  situation 
for  her  son?  He  cannot  have  understood  your  hints, 
father,  for  if  he  knew  it  was  a  question  of  entering 
our  family,  he  would  have  felt  no  such  anxiety." 
140 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

That  evening,  when  they  were  at  work,  Jean- 
nette_yert^ud  said  to  Francois : 

"  I  have  always  had  a  high  opinion  of  you,  Fran- 
cois ;  but  it  is  still  higher  now  that  my  father  has 
told  me  of  your  affection  for  the  woman  who 
brought  you  up,  and  for  whom  you  wish  to  work 
all  your  life.  It  is  right  for  you  to  feel  so.  I  should 
like  to  know  the  woman,  so  that  I  might  serve  her 
in  case  of  need,  because  you  have  always  been  so 
fond  of  her.     She  must  be  a  fine  woman." 

^'Oh!  yes,"  said  Francois,  who  was  pleased  to 
talk  of  Madeleine,  ''  she  is  a  woman  with  a  good 
heart,  a  woman  with  a  heart  like  yours." 

Jeannette  Vertaud  was  delighted  at  this,  and,  think- 
ing herself  sure  of  what  she  wanted,  went  on : 

"  If  she  should  turn  out  as  unfortunate  as  you  fear, 
I  wish  she  could  come  and  live  with  us.  I  should 
help  you  take  care  of  her,  for  I  suppose  that  she  is 
no  longer  young.     Is  not  she  infirm?  " 

"Infirm?  No,"  said  Francois;  "she  is  not  old 
enough  to  be  infirm." 

"Then  is  she  still  young?"  asked  Jeannette  Ver- 
taud, beginning  to  prick  up  her  ears. 

"Oh  !  no,  she  is  not  young,"  answered  Francois, 
simply.  "  I  do  not  remember  how  old  she  is  now. 
141 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

She  was  a  mother  to  me,  and  I  never  thought  of 
her  age." 

''Was  she  attractive?"  asked  Jeannette,  after  hesi- 
tating a  moment  before  putting  the  question. 

"  Attractive  ?  "  said  Francois,  with  some  surprise  ; 
"do  you  mean  to  ask  if  she  is  a  pretty  woman? 
She  is  pretty  enough  for  me  just  as  she  is  ;  but  to 
tell  the  truth,  I  never  thought  of  that.  What  differ- 
ence can  it  make  in  my  affection  for  her  ?  She  might 
be  as  ugly  as  the  devil,  without  my  finding  it  out." 

"  But  cannot  you  tell  me  about  how  old  she  is?" 

"Wait  a  minute.  Her  son  was  five  years  younger 
than  I.  Well  !  She  is  not  old,  but  she  is  not  very 
young;   she  is  about  like — " 

"Like  me?"  said  Jeannette,  making  a  slight  effort, 
to  laugh.  "In  that  case,  if  she  becomes  a  widow,  it 
will  be  too  late  for  her  to  marry  again,  will  it  not  ?  " 

"That  depends  on  circumstances,"  replied  Fran^ 
pois.  "  If  her  husband  has  not  wasted  all  the  prop- 
erty, she  would  have  plenty  of  suitors.  There  are- 
fellows,  who  would  marry  their  great-aunts  as  will- 
ingly as  their  great-nieces,  for  money." 

"  Then  you  have  no  esteem  for  those  who  marry 
for  money  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  do  it,"  answered  Franpois.  'i 

142  ^l 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

Simple-hearted  as  the  waif  was,  he  was  no  such 
simpleton  as  not  to  understand  the  insinuations 
which  had  been  made  him,  and  he  did  not  speak 
without  meaning.  But  Jeannette  would  not  take 
the  hint,  and  fell  still  deeper  in  love  with  him.  She 
had  had  many  admirers,  without  paying  attention  to 
any  of  them,  and  now  the  only  one  who  pleased 
her,  turned  his  back  on  her.  Such  is  the  logical 
temper  of  a  woman's  mind. 

Francois  observed  during  the  following  days  that 
she  had  something  on  her  mind,  for  she  ate  scarcely 
anything,  and  her  eyes  were  always  fixed  on  him, 
whenever  she  thought  he  was  not  looking.  Her  at- 
tachment pained  him.  He  respected  this  good  wo- 
man, and  saw  that  the  more  indifferent  he  appeared, 
'the  more  she  cared  about  him  ;  but  he  had  no  fancy 
for  her,  and  if  he  had  tried  to  cultivate  such  a  feeling, 
•it  would  have  been  the  result  of  duty  and  principle 
irather  than  of  spontaneous  affection. 

He  reflected  that  he  could  not  stay  much  longer 
with  Jean  Vertaud,  because  he  knew  that,  sooner  or 
later,  such  a  condition  of  affairs  must  necessarily  give 
irise  to  some  unfortunate  difference. 

Just  at  this  time,  however,  an  incident  befell  which 
changed  the  current  of  his  thoughts. 
»43 


\ 


CHAPTER     XIV 

ONE  morning  the  parish  priest  of  Aigurande 
came  strolling"  over  to  Jean  Vertaud's  mill, 
and  wandered  round  the  place  for  some  time  before 
espying  Francois,  whom  he  found  at  last  in  a  corner 
of  the  garden.  He  assumed  a  very  confidential  air, 
and  asked  him  if  he  were  indeed  Francois,  surnamed 
Strawberry,  a  name  that  had  been  given  him  in  the 
civil  register  —  where  he  had  been  inscribed  as  a 
foundling — on  account  of  a  certain  mark  on  his  left 
arm.  The  priest  then  inquired  concerning  his  exact 
age,  the  name  of  the  woman  who  had  nursed  him, 
the  places  in  which  he  had  lived ;  in  short,  all  that 
he  knew  of  his  birth  and  life. 

Francois  produced  his  papers,  and  the  priest  seemed 
to  be  entirely  satisfied. 

''Very  well,"  said  he,  ''you  may  come  this 
evening  or  to-morrow  morning  to  the  parsonage  ; 
but  you  must  not  let  anybody  know  what  I  am 
144 


FRANgOIS  THE   WAIF 

going  to  tell  you,  for  I  am  forbidden  to  make 
it  public,  and  it  is  a  matter  of  conscience  with 
me." 

When  Francois  went  to  the  parsonage,  the  priest 
carefully  shut  the  doors  of  the  room,  and  drawing 
four  little  bits  of  thin  paper  from  his  desk,  said  : 
t     ''Francois   Strawberry,  there   are   four  thousand 
I  francs  that  your  mother  sends  you.     I  am  forbidden 
jto  tell  you  her  name,  where  she  lives,  or  whether 
[she  is  alive  or  dead  at  the  present  moment.    A  pious 
thought  has  induced  her  to  remember  you,  and  it 
appears  that  she  always  intended  to  do  so,  since  she 
knew  where  you  were  to  be  found,  although  you 
lived  at  such  a  distance.     She  knew  that  your  char- 
acter was  good,  and  gives  you  enough  to  establish 
yourself  with  in  life,  on  condition  that  for  six  months 
you  never  mention  this  gift,  unless  it  be  to  the  wo- 
man you  want  to  marry.     She  enjoins  me  to  consult 
with  you  on  the  investment  or  the  safe  deposit  of 
this  money,  and  begs  me  to  lend  my  name,  in  case 
it  is  necessary,  in  order  to  keep  the  affair  secret.     I 
shall  do  as  you  like  in  this  respect ;  but  I  am  ordered 
to  deliver  you  the  money,  only  in  exchange  for  your 
word  of  honor  that  you  will  neither  say  nor  do  any- 
thing that  might  divulge  the  secret.    I  know  that  I 
lo  145 


FRANCOIS  THE   WAIF 

may  count  upon  your  good  faith  ;  will  you  pledge 
it  to  me?" 

Francois  gave  his  oath  and  left  the  money  in  the 
priest's  charge,  begging  him  to  lay  it  out  to  the  best 
advantage,  for  he  knew  this  priest  to  be  a  good 
man;  and  some  priests  are  like  some  women,  either 
all  good  or  all  bad. 

The  waif  returned  home  rather  sad  than  glad.  He 
thought  of  his  mother,  and  would  have  been  glad  to 
give  up  the  four  thousand  francs  for  the  privilege  of 
seeing  and  embracing  her.  He  imagined,  too,  that 
perhaps  she  had  just  died,  and  that  her  gift  was  the 
result  of  one  of  those  impulses  which  come  to  people 
at  the  point  of  death;  and  it  made  him  still  more  mel- 
ancholy to  be  unable  to  bear  mourning  for  her  and 
have  masses  said  for  her  soul.  Whether  she  were  dead 
or  alive,  he  prayed  God  to  forgive  her  for  forsaking 
her  child,  as  her  child  forgave  her  with  his  whole  heart, 
and  prayed  to  be  forgiven  his  sins  in  like  manner. 

He  tried  to  appear  the  same  as  usual ;  but  for  more 
than  a  fortnight,  he  was  so  absorbed  in  a  reverie  at 
meal-times  that  the  attention  of  the  Vertauds  was 
excited. 

"  That  young  man  does  not  confide  in  us,"  ob- 
served the  miller.     "  He  must  be  in  love." 
1^6 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

**  Perhaps  it  is  with  me,"  thought  the  daughter, 
**  and  he  is  too  modest  to  confess  it.  He  is  afraid 
that  I  shall  think  him  more  attracted  by  my  money 
than  my  person,  so  he  is  trying  to  prevent  our  guess- 
ing what  is  on  his  mind." 

Thereupon,  she  set  to  work  to  cure  him  of  his  shy- 
ness, and  encouraged  him  so  frankly  and  sweetly  in 
her  words  and  looks,  that  he  was  a  little  touched  in 
spite  of  his  preoccupation. 

Occasionally,  he  said  to  himself  that  he  was  rich 
enough  to  help  Madeleine  in  case  of  need,  and  that 
he  could  well  afford  to  marry  a  girl  who  laid  no 
claim  to  his  fortune.  He  was  not  in  love  with  any 
woman,  but  he  saw  Jeannette  Vertaud's  good  quali- 
ties, and  was  afraid  of  being  hard-hearted  if  he  did 
not  respond  to  her  advances.  At  times  he  pitied  her, 
and  was  almost  ready  to  console  her. 

But  all  at  once,  on  a  journey  which  he  made  to 
Oevant  on  his  master's  business,  he  met  a  forester 
from  Presles,  who  told  him  of  Cadet  Blanchet's  death, 
adding  that  he  had  left  his  affairs  in  great  disorder, 
And  that  nobody  knew  whether  his  widow  would  be 
able  to  right  them. 

Francois  had  no  cause  to  love  or  regret  Master 
Blanchet,  yet  his  heart  was  so  tender  that  when  he 
M7 


FRANgOIS  THE   WAIF 

heard  the  news  his  eyes  were  moist  and  his  head 
heavy,  as  if  he  were  about  to  weep;  he  knew  that 
Madeleine  was  weeping  for  her  husband  at  that  very 
moment,  that  she  forgave  him  everything,  and  re- 
membered only  that  he  was  the  father  of  her  child. 
The  thought  of  Madeleine's  grief  awoke  his  own, 
and  obliged  him  to  weep  with  her  over  the  sorrow 
which  he  was  sure  was  hers. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  leap  upon  his  horse  and 
hasten  to  her  side ;  but  he  reflected  that  it  was  his 
duty  to  ask  permission  of  his  master. 


148 


CHAPTER     XV 

MASTER,"  said  he  to  Jean  Vertaud,  *'  I  must 
leave  you  for  a  time;  how  long  1  cannot 
tell.  I  have  something  to  attend  to  near  my  old 
home,  and  I  request  you  to  let  me  go  with  a  good 
will ;  for,  to  tell  the  tf uth,  if  you  refuse  to  give  your 
permission,  I  shall  not  be  able  to  obey  you,  but  shall 
go  in  spite  of  you.  Forgive  me  for  stating  the  case 
plainly.  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  vex  you,  and  that 
is  why  I  ask  you  as  a  reward  for  all  the  services  that 
I  may  have  been  able  to  render  you,  not  to  take  my 
behavior  amiss,  but  to  forgive  the  offense  of  which  I 
am  guilty,  in  leaving  your  work  so  suddenly.  I  may 
return  at  the  end  of  a  week,  if  I  am  not  needed  in 
the  place  where  I  am  going;  but  I  may  not  come 
back  till  late  in  the  year,  or  not  at  all,  for  I  am  un- 
willing to  deceive  you.  However,  I  shall  do  my  best 
to  come  to  your  assistance  if  you  need  me,  or  if  any- 
thing were  to  occur  which  you  cannot  manage  with- 
149 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

out  me.  Before  I  go,  I  shall  find  you  a  good  work- 
man to  take  my  place,  and,  if  necessary,  offer  him  as  an 
inducement  all  that  is  due  on  my  wages  since  Saint 
John's  day  last.  Thus  I  can  arrange  matters  without 
loss  to  you,  and  you  must  shake  hands  to  wish  me 
good  luck,  and  to  ease  my  mind  of  some  of  the  regret 
I  feel  at  parting  with  you." 

Jean  Vertaud  knew  that  the  waif  seldom  asked  for 
anything,  but  that  when  he  did,  his  will  was  so  firm 
that  neither  God  nor  the  devil  could  bend  it. 

^'  Do  as  you  please,  my  boy,"  said  he,  shaking 
hands  with  him.  "  I  should  not  tell  the  truth  if  I 
said  I  did  not  care;  but  rather  than  have  a  quarrel 
with  you,  I  should  consent  to  anything." 

Francois  spent  the  next  day  in  looking  up  a  ser- 
vant to  take  his  place  in  the  mill,  and  he  met  with  a 
zealous,  upright  man  who  was  returning  from  the 
army,  and  was  happy  to  find  work  and  good  wages 
under  a  good  master;  for  Jean  Vertaud  was  recog- 
nized as  such,  and  was  known  never  to  have  wronged 
anybody. 

Before  setting  out,  as  he  intended  to  do  at  day- 
break the  next  day,  Franpois  wished  to  take  leave 
of  Jeannette  Vertaud  at  supper-time.  She  was  sit- 
ting at  the  barn  door,  saying  that  her  head  ached 
150 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

and  that  she  could  not  eat.  He  observed  that  she 
had  been  weeping,  and  felt  much  troubled  in  mind. 
He  did  not  know  how  to  thank  her  for  her  kindness, 
and  yet  tell  her  that  he  was  to  leave  her  in  spite  of  it. 
He  sat  down  beside  her  on  the  stump  of  an  alder- 
tree,  which  happened  to  be  there,  and  struggled  to 
speak,  without  being  able  to  think  of  a  single  word 
to  say.  She  saw  all  this,  without  looking  up,  and 
pressed  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes.  He  made  a 
motion  to  take  her  hand  in  his  and  comfort  her,  but 
drew  back  as  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  could  not 
conscientiously  tell  her  what  she  wanted  to  hear. 
When  poor  Jeannette  found  that  he  remained  silent, 
she  was  ashamed  of  her  own  sorrow,  and  rising 
quietly  without  showing  any  bitterness  of  feeling, 
she  went  into  the  barn  to  weep  unrestrained. 

She  lingered  there  a  little  while,  in  the  hope  that 
he  would  make  up  his  mind  to  follow  her  and  say  a 
kind  word,  but  he  forbore,  and  went  to  his  supper, 
which  he  ate  in  melancholy  silence. 

It  would  be  false  to  say  that  he  had  felt  nothing 
for  Jeannette  when  he  saw  her  in  tears.  His  heart 
was  a  little  fluttered,  as  he  reflected  how  happy  he 
might  be  with  a  person  of  so  excellent  a  disposition, 
who  was  so  fond  of  him,  and  who  was  not  person- 
151 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

ally  disagreeable  to  him.  But  he  shook  off  all  these 
ideas  when  it  returned  to  his  mind  that  Madeleine 
might  stand  in  need  of  a  friend,  adviser,  and  servant, 
and  that  when  he  was  but  a  poor,  forsaken  child, 
wasted  with  fever,  she  had  endured,  worked,  and 
braved  more  for  him  than  anybody  else  in  the 
world. 

'*  Come,"  said  he  to  himself,  when  he  woke  next 
morning  before  the  dawn  ;  ''  you  must  not  think  of 
a  love-affair  or  your  own  happiness  and  tranquillity. 
You  would  gladly  forget  that  you  are  a  waif,  and 
would  throw  your  past  to  the  winds,  as  so  many 
others  do,  who  seize  the  moment  as  it  flies,  without 
looking  behind  them.  Yes,  but  think  of  Madeleine 
Blanchet,  who  entreats  you  not  to  forget  her,  but  to 
remember  what  she  did  for  you.  Forward,  then  ; 
and  Jeannette,  may  God  help  you  to  a  more  gallant 
lover  than  your  humble  servant." 

Such  were  his  reflections  as  he  passed  beneath  the 
window  of  his  kind  mistress,  and  if  the  season  had 
been  propitious,  he  would  have  left  a  leaf  or  flower 
against  her  casement,  in  token  of  farewell  ;  but  it 
was  the  day  after  the  feast  of  the  Epiphany  ;  the 
ground  was  covered  with  snow,  and  there  was  not 
a  leaf  on  the  trees  nor  a  violet  in  the  grass. 
152 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

He  thought  of  knotting  into  the  corner  of  a  white 
handkerchief  the  bean  which  he  had  won  the  even- 
ing before  in  the  Twelfth-night  cake,  and  of  tying 
the  handkerchief  to  the  bars  of  Jeannette's  window, 
to  show  her  that  he  would  have  chosen  her  for  his 
queen,  if  she  had  deigned  to  appear  at  supper. 

"A  bean  is  a  very  little  thing,"  thought  he,  *'but 
it  is  a  slight  mark  of  courtesy  and  friendship,  and 
will  make  my  excuses  for  not  having  said  good-by 
to  her." 

But  a  still,  small  voice  within  counseled  him 
against  making  this  offering,  and  pointed  out  to  him 
that  a  man  should  not  follow  the  example  of  those 
young  girls  who  try  to  make  men  love,  remember, 
and  regret  them,  when  they  have  not  the  slightest 
idea  of  giving  anything  in  return. 

"No,  no,  Francois,"  said  he,  putting  back  his 
pledge  into  his  pocket,  and  hastening  his  step;  "a 
man's  will  must  be  firm,  and  he  must  allow  himself 
to  be  forgotten  when  he  has  made  up  his  mind  to 
forget  himself." 

Thereupon,  he  strode  rapidly  away,  and  before  he 

had  gone  two  gunshots  from  Jean  Vertaud's  mill  he 

fancied  that  he  saw  Madeleine's  image  before  him, 

and  heard  a  faint  little  voice  calling  to  him  for  help. 

153 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

This  dream  drew  him  on,  and  he  seemed  to  see  al- 
ready the  great  ash-tree,  the  fountain,  the  meadow 
of  the  Blanchets,  the  mill-dam,  the  little  bridge,  and 
Jeannie  running  to  meet  him  ;  and  in  the  midst  of 
all  this,  the  memory  of  Jeannette  Vertaud  was  pow- 
erless to  hold  him  back  an  inch. 

He  walked  so  fast  that  he  felt  neither  cold  nor 
hunger  nor  thirst,  nor  did  he  stop  to  take  breath 
till  he  left  the  highroad  and  reached  the  cross  of 
Plessys,  which  stands  at  the  beginning  of  the  path 
which  leads  to  Presles. 

When  there,  he  flung  himself  on  his  knees  and 
kissed  the  wood  of  the  cross  with  the  ardor  of  a 
good  Christian  who  meets  again  with  a  good  friend. 
Then  he  began  to  descend  the  great  track,  which  is 
like  a  road,  except  that  it  is  as  broad  as  a  field.  It 
is  the  finest  common  in  the  world,  and  is  blessed 
with  a  beautiful  view,  fresh  air,  and  extended  hori- 
zon. It  slopes  so,  rapidly  that  in  frosty  weather  a 
man  could  go  post-haste  even  in  an  ox-cart  and 
take  an  unexpected  plunge  in  the  river,  which  runs 
silently  below. 

Francois  mistrusted  this;  he  took  off  his  sabots 
more  than  once,  and  reached  the  bridge  without  a 
tumble.  He  passed  by  Montipouret  on  the  left,  not 
154 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

without  sending  a  loving  salute  to  the  tall  old  clock- 
tower,  which  is  everybody's  friend;  for  it  is  the  first 
to  greet  the  eyes  of  those  who  are  returning  home, 
and  shows  them  the  right  road,  if  they  have  gone 
astray. 

As  to  the  roads,  I  have  no  fault  to  find  with  them 
in  summer-time,  when  they  are  green,  smiling,  and 
pleasant  to  look  upon.  You  may  walk  through 
some  of  them  with  no  fear  of  a  sunstroke;  but  those 
are  the  most  treacherous  of  all,  because  they  may 
lead  you  to  Rome,  when  you  think  you  are  going  to 
Angibault.  Happily,  the  good  clock-tower  of  Monti- 
pouret  is  not  chary  of  showing  itself,  and  through 
every  clearing  you  may  catch  a  glimpse  of  its  glitter- 
ing steeple,  that  tells  you  whether  you  are  going 
north  or  northwest. 

The  waif,  however,  needed  no  such  beacon  to 
guide  him.  He  was  so  familiar  with  all  the  wooded 
paths  and  byways,  all  the  shady  lanes,  all  the 
hunters'  trails,  and  even  the  very  hedge-rows  along 
the  roads,  that  in  the  middle  of  the  night  he  could 
take  the  shortest  cut,  and  go  as  straight  as  a  pigeon 
flies  through  the  sky. 

It  was  toward  noon  when  he  first  caught  sight  of 
the  mill  of  Cormouer  through  the  leafless  branches, 
•55 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

and  he  was  happy  to  see  curling  up  from  the  roof 
a  faint  blue  smoke,  which  assured  him  that  the 
house  was  not  abandoned  to  the  rats. 

For  greater  speed  he  crossed  the  upper  part  of  the 
Blanchet  meadow,  and  thus  did  not  pass  close  by 
the  fountain;  but  as  the  trees  and  bushes  were  stript 
of  their  leaves,  he  could  still  see  sparkling  in  the 
sunlight  the  open  water,  that  never  freezes,  because 
it  bubbles  up  from  a  spring.  The  approach  to  the 
mill,  on  the  contrary,  was  icy  and  so  slippery  that 
much  caution  was  required  to  step  safely  over  the 
stones,  and  along  the  bank  of  the  river.  He  saw 
the  old  mill-wheel,  black  with  age  and  damp, 
covered  with  long  icicles,  sharp  as  needles,  that 
hung  from  the  bars. 

Many  trees  were  missing  around  the  house,  and 
the  place  was  much  changed.  Cadet  Blanchet's  debts 
had  called  the  ax  into  play,  and  here  and  there  were 
to  be  seen  the  stumps  of  great  alders,  freshly  cut,  as 
red  as  blood.  The  house  seemed  to  be  in  bad  repair; 
the  roof  was  ill-protected,  and  the  oven  had  cracked 
half  open  by  the  action  of  the  frost. 

What  was  still  more  melancholy  was  that  there 
was  no  sound  to  be  heard  of  man  or  beast;  only  a 
brindled  black-and-white  dog,  a  poor  country  mon- 

156 


FRANgOIS  THE   WAIF 

grel,  jumped  up  from  the  door-step  and  ran  bark- 
ing toward  Franpois;  then  he  suddenly  ceased,  and 
came  crawling  up  to  him  and  lay  at  his  feet. 

"  Is  it  you,  Labriche,  and  do  you  know  me?"  said 
Francois.  'M  did  not  recognize  you,  for  you  are  so 
old  and  miserable;  your  ribs  stick  out,  and  your 
whiskers  are  quite  white." 

Francois  talked  thus  to  the  dog,  because  he  was 
distressed,  and  wanted  to  gain  a  little  time  before 
entering  the  house.  He  had  been  in  great  haste  up 
to  this  moment,  but  now  he  was  alarmed,  because 
he  feared  that  he  should  never  see  Madeleine  again, 
that  she  might  be  absent  or  dead  instead  of  her  hus- 
band, or  that  the  report  of  the  miller's  death  might 
prove  false;  in  short,  he  was  a  prey  to  all  those  fan- 
cies which  beset  the  mind  of  a  man  who  has  just 
reached  the  goal  of  all  his  desires. 


'57 


CHAPTER    XVI 

FINALLY  Francois  drew  the  latch  of  the  door, 
and  beheld,  instead  of  Madeleine,  a  lovely  young 
girl,  rosy  as  a  May  morning,  and  lively  as  a  linnet. 
She  said  to  him,  with  an  engaging  manner:  "  What 
is  it  you  want,  young  man  ?  " 

Though  she  was  so  fair  to  see,  Francois  did  not 
waste  time  in  looking  at  her,  but  cast  his  eyes  round 
the  room  in  search  of  Madeleine.  He  saw  nothing 
but  the  closed  curtains  of  her  bed,  and  he  was  sure 
that  she  was  in  it.  He  did  not  wait  to  answer  the 
pretty  girl,  who  was  Mariette  Blanchet,  the  miller's 
youngest  sister,  but  without  a  word  walked  up  to 
the  yellow  bed  and  pulled  the  curtains  noiselessly 
aside;  there  he  saw  Madeleine  Blanchet  lying  asleep, 
pale  and  wasted  with  fever. 

He  looked  at  her  long  and  fixedly,  without  moving 
or  speaking;  and  in  spite  of  his  grief  at  her  illness, 
and  his  fear  of  her  dying,  he  was  yet  happy  to  have 

.58 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

her  face  before  him,  and  to  be  able  to  say:  *'  I  see 
Madeleine." 

Mariette  Blanchet  pushed  him  gently  away  from 
the  bed,  drew  the  curtains  together,  and  beckoned 
to  him  to  follow  her  to  the  fireside. 

**  Now,  young  man,"  said  she,  ''who  are  you,  and 
what  do  you  want?  I  do  not  know  you,  and  you 
are  a  stranger  in  the  neighborhood.  Tell  me  how  I 
may  oblige  you." 

Franpois  did  not  listen  to  her,  and  instead  of  an- 
swering her,  he  began  to  ask  questions  about  how 
long  Madame  Blanchet  had  been  ill,  whether  she  were 
in  any  danger,  and  whether  she  were  well  cared  for. 

Mariette  answered  that  Madeleine  had  been  ill  since 
her  husband's  death,  because  she  had  overexerted 
herself  in  nursing  him,  and  watching  at  his  bedside, 
day  and  night;  that  they  had  not  as  yet  sent  for  the 
doctor,  but  that  they  would  do  so  in  case  she  was 
worse;  and  as  to  her  being  well  cared  for,  Mariette 
declared  that  she  knew  her  duty  and  did  not  spare 
herself. 

At  these  words,  the  waif  looked  the  girl  full  in  the 

face,  and  had  no  need  to  ask  her  name,  for  besides 

knowing  that  soon  after  he  had  left  the  mill,  Master 

Blanchet  had  placed  his  sister  in  his  wife's  charge,  he 

159    . 


FRANgOlS  THE   WAIF 

detected  in  the  pretty  face  of  this  pretty  girl  a  strik- 
ing resemblance  to  the  sinister  face  of  the  dead  miller. 
There  are  many  fine  and  delicate  faces  which  have 
an  inexplicable  likeness  to  ugly  ones ;  and  though 
Mariette  Blanchet's  appearance  was  as  charming  as 
that  of  her  brother  had  been  disagreeable,  she  still 
had  an  unmistakable  family  look.  Only  the  miller's 
expression  had  been  surly  and  irascible,  while  Mari- 
ette's  was  mocking  rather  than  resentful,  and  fearless 
instead  of  threatening. 

So  it  was  that  Francois  was  neither  altogether  dis- 
turbed nor  altogether  at  ease  concerning  the  atten- 
tion Madeleine  might  receive  from  this  young  girl. 
Her  cap  was  of  fine  linen,  neatly  folded  and  pinned; 
her  hair,  which  she  wore  somewhat  after  the  fashion 
of  town-bred  girls,  was  very  lustrous,  and  carefully 
combed  and  parted ;  and  both  her  hands  and  her 
apron  were  very  white  for  a  sick-nurse.  In  short,  she 
was  much  too  young,  fresh,  and  gay  to  spend  the 
day  and  night  in  helping  a  person  who  was  unable 
to  help  herself. 

Francois  asked  no  more  questions,  but  sat  down 
in  the  chimney-corner,  determined  not  to  leave  the 
place  until  he  saw  whether  his  dear  Madeleine's  ill- 
ness turned  for  the  better  or  worse. 
160 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

Marietta  was  astonished  to  see  him  take  possession 
of  the  fire  so  cavalierly,  just  as  if  he  were  in  his  own 
house.  He  stared  into  the  blaze,  and  as  he  seemed  in 
no  humor  for  talking,  she  dared  inquire  no  further 
who  he  was  and  what  was  his  business.  After  a 
moment,  Catherine,  who  had  been  the  house-servant 
for  eighteen  or  twenty  years,  came  into  the  room. 
She  paid  no  attention  to  him,  but  approached  the  bed 
of  her  mistress,  looked  at  her  cautiously,  and  then 
turned  to  the  fireplace,  to  see  after  the  potion  which 
Mariette  was  concocting.  Her  behavior  showed  an 
intense  interest  for  Madeleine,  and  Franpois,  who 
took  in  the  truth  of  the  matter  in  a  throb,  was  on 
the  point  of  addressing  her  with  a  friendly  greeting ; 
but— 

'^But,"  said  the  priest's  servant,  interrupting  the 
hemp-dresser,  "you  are  using  an  unsuitable  word. 
A  throb  does  not  express  a  moment,  or  a  minute." 

*M  tell  you,"  retorted  the  hemp-dresser,  ''that  a 
moment  means  nothing  at  all,  and  a  minute  is 
longer  than  it  takes  for  an  idea  to  rush  into  the 
head.  I  do  not  know  how  many  millions  of  things 
you  can  think  of  in  a  minute,  whereas  you  only 
need  a  throb  of  time  to  see  and  hear  some  one  thing 
31  i6i 


FRANgOIS   THE  WAIF 

that  is  happening.  I  will  say  a  little  throb,  if  you 
please." 

*'  But  a  throb  of  time! "  objected  the  old  purist. 

''Ah!  A  throb  of  time!  Does  that  worry  you, 
Mother  Monique?  Does  not  everything  go  by 
throbs?  Does  not  the  sun,  when  you  see  it  rising 
in  the  clouds  of  flames,  and  it  makes  your  eyes  blink 
to  look  at  it?  And  the  blood  that  beats  in  your 
veins;  the  church  clock  that  sifts  your  time  particle 
by  particle,  as  a  bolting-machine  does  the  grain; 
your  rosary  when  you  tell  it;  your  heart  when  the 
priest  is  delayed  in  coming  home;  the  rain  falling  drop 
by  drop,  and  the  earth  that  turns  round,  as  they  say^ 
like  a  mill-wheel  ?  Neither  you  nor  I  feel  the  motion, 
the  machine  is  too  well  oiled  for  that ;  but  there 
must  be  some  throbbing  about  it,  since  it  accom- 
plishes its  period  in  twenty-four  hours.  As  to  that, 
too,  we  use  the  word  period  when  we  speak  of  a 
certain  length  of  time.  So  I  say  a  throb,  and  I  shall 
not  unsay  it.  Do  not  interrupt  me  any  more,  unless 
you  wish  to  tell  the  story." 

"No,  no;  your  machine  is  too  well  oiled,  too,'* 
answered  the  old  woman.  ''Now  let  your  tongue 
throb  a  little  longer." 


162 


CHAPTER     XVII 


1WAS  saying  that  Fran9ois  was  tempted  to  speak 
to  big  old  Catherine,  and  make  himself  known 
to  her;  but  as  in  the  same  throb  of  time  he  was  on 
the  point  of  crying,  he  did  not  wish  to  behave  like  a 
fool,  and  did  not  even  raise  his  head.  As  Catherine 
stooped  over  the  ashes,  she  caught  sight  of  his  long 
legs  and  drew  back  in  alarm. 

*^  What  is  all  that?  "  whispered  she  to  Mariette  in 
the  other  corner  of  the  room.  ''Where  does  that 
man  come  from  ?  " 

"  Do  you  ask  me?  "  said  the  girl;  *'  how  should  I 
know?  I  never  saw  him  before.  He  came  in  here, 
as  if  he  were  at  an  inn,  without  a  good-morning  or 
good-evening.  He  asked  after  the  health  of  my 
sister-in-law  as  if  he  were  a  near  relation,  or  her 
heir;  and  there  he  is  sitting  by  the  fire,  as  you  see. 
You  may  speak  to  him,  for  I  do  not  care  to  do  so. 
He  may  be  a  disreputable  person." 

163 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

*'What?  Do  you  think  he  is  crazy?  He  does 
not  look  wicked,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  for  he  seems  to 
be  hiding  his  face." 

^'  Suppose  he  has  come  for  some  bad  purpose  ?  " 

^'  Do  not  be  afraid,  Mariette,  for  I  am  near  to  keep 
him  in  check.  If  he  alarms  you,  I  shall  pour  a  kettle 
of  boiling  water  over  his  legs,  and  throw  an  andiron 
at  his  head." 

While  they  were  chattering  thus,  Franfois  was 
thinking  of  Madeleine. 

''That  poor  dear  woman,"  said  he  to  himself, 
"who  has  never  had  anything  but  vexation  and 
unkindness  from  her  husband,  is  now  lying  ill  be- 
cause she  nursed  and  helped  him  to  the  end.  Here 
is  this  young  girl,  who  was  the  miller's  pet  sister,  as 
I  have  heard  say,  and  her  face  bears  no  traces  of 
sorrow.  She  shows  no  signs  of  fatigue  or  tears,  for 
her  eyes  are  as  clear  and  bright  as  the  sun." 

He  could  not  help  looking  at  her  from  under  the 
brim  of  his  hat,  for  never  until  then  had  he  seen 
such  fresh  and  joyous  beauty.  Still,  though  his  eyes 
were  charmed,  his  heart  remained  untouched. 

"  Come,"  continued  Catherine,  in  a  whisper  to  her 
young  mistress,  "  \   am  going  to  speak  to  him.     I 
must  find  out  his  business  here." 
164 


FRANgOIS   THE  WAIF 

''Speak  to  him  politely,"  said  Mariette.  ''We 
must  not  irritate  him  ;  we  are  all  alone  in  the  house, 
and  Jeannie  may  be  too  far  away  to  hear  our  cries." 

"Jeannie  !"  exclaimed  Franfois,  who  caught  no- 
thing from  all  their  prattle,  except  the  name  of  his 
old  friend.  "Where  is  Jeannie,  and  why  don't  I  see 
him?    Has  he  grown  tall,  strong,  and  handsome?" 

"There,"  thought  Catherine,  "he  asks  this  be- 
cause he  has  some  evil  intention.  Who  is  the  man, 
for  Heaven's  sake  ?  I  know  neither  his  voice  nor  his 
figure  ;    I  must  satisfy  myself  and  look  at  his  face." 

She  was  strong  as  a  laborer  and  bold  as  a  soldier, 
and  would  not  have  quailed  before  the  devil  himself, 
so  she  stalked  up  to  Francois,  determined  either  to 
make  him  take  off  his  hat,  or  to  knock  it  off  herself, 
so  that  she  might  see  whether  he  were  a  monster  or 
a  Christian  man.  She  approached  the  waif,  without 
suspecting  that  it  was  he  ;  for  being  as  little  given 
to  thinking  of  the  past  as  of  the  future,  she  had  long 
forgotten  all  about  Francois,  and,  moreover,  he  had 
improved  so  much  and  was  now  such  a  handsome 
fellow  that  she  might  well  have  looked  at  him  sev- 
eral times  before  recalling  him  to  mind  ;  but  just  as 
she  was  about  to  accost  him  rather  roughly,  Made- 
leine awoke,  and  called  Catherine,  saying  in  a  faint, 
"*  165 


FRANgOlS  THE  WAIF 

almost  inaudible  voice  that  she  was  burning  with 
thirst. 

Francois  sprang  up,  and  would  have  been  the  first 
to  reach  her  but  for  the  fear  of  exciting  her  too 
much,  which  held  him  back.  He  quickly  handed 
the  draught  to  Catherine,  who  hastened  with  it  to 
her  mistress,  forgetting  everything  for  the  moment 
but  the  sick  woman's  condition. 

Mariette,  too,  did  her  share,  by  raising  Madeleine 
in  her  arms,  to  help  her  drink,  and  this  was  no  hard 
task,  for  Madeleine  was  so  thin  and  wasted  that  it 
was  heartbreaking  to  see  her. 

"  How  do  you  feel,  sister?  "  asked  Mariette. 

**  Very  well,  my  child,"  answered  Madeleine  in  the 
tone  of  one  about  to  die.  She  never  complained,  to 
avoid  distressing  the  others. 

*'  That  is  not  Jeannie  over  there,"  she  said,  as  she 
caught  sight  of  the  waif  '^Am  I  dreaming,  my 
child,  or  who  is  that  tall  man  standing  by  the  fire  ?  " 

Catherine  answered  : 

**We  do  not  know,  dear  mistress;  he  says  no- 
thing, and  behaves  like  an  idiot." 

The  waif,  at  this  moment,  made  a  little  motion  to 
go  toward  Madeleine,  but  restrained  himself,  for 
though  he  was  dying  to  speak  to  her,  he  was  afraid 
166 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

of  taking  her  by  surprise.  Catherine  now  saw  his 
face,  but  he  had  changed  so  much  in  the  past  three 
years  that  she  did  not  recognize  him,  and  thinking 
that  Madeleine  was  frightened,  she  said  : 

"  Do  not  worry,  dear  mistress  ;  I  was  just  going 
to  turn  him  out,  when  you  called  me." 

''  Don't  turn  him  out,"  said  Madeleine,  in  a 
stronger  voice,  pulling  aside  the  curtain  of  her  bed  ; 
''  I  know  him,  and  he  has  done  right  in  coming  to 
see  me.  Come  nearer,  my  son  ;  I  have  been  pray- 
ing God  every  day  to  permit  me  the  grace  of  giving 
you  my  blessing," 

The  waif  ran  to  her,  and  threw  himself  on  his 
knees  beside  her  bed,  shedding  tears  of  joy  and  sor- 
row that  nearly  suffocated  him.  Madeleine  touched 
his  hands,  and  then  his  head;  and  said,  as  she  kissed 
him: 

*'  Call  Jeannie;  Catherine,  call  Jeannie,  that  he  may 
share  this  happiness  with  us.  Ah!  I  thank  God, 
Francois,  and  I  am  ready  to  die  now,  if  such  is  his 
will,  for  both  my  children  are  grown,  and  I  may  bid 
them  farewell  in  peace." 


167 


CHAPTER     XVIII 

CATHERINE  rushed  off  in  pursuit  of  Jeannie,  and 
Mariette  was  so  anxious  to  know  what  it  all 
meant,  that  she  followed  to  ask  questions.  Francois 
was  left  alone  with  Madeleine,  who  kissed  him 
again,  and  burst  into  tears;  then  she  closed  her  eyes, 
looking  still  more  weak  and  exhausted  than  she  had 
been  before.  Franpois  saw  that  she  had  fainted,  and 
knew  not  how  to  revive  her;  he  was  beside  himself, 
and  could  only  hold  her  in  his  arms,  calling  her  his 
dear  mother,  his  dearest  friend,  and  imploring  her,  as 
if  it  lay  within  her  power,  not  to  die  so  soon,  with- 
out hearing  what  he  had  to  say. 

So,  by  his  tender  words,  devoted  care,  and  fond 
endearments,  he  restored  her  to  consciousness,  and 
she  began  again  to  see  and  hear  him.  He  told  her 
that  he  had  guessed  she  needed  him,  that  he  had 
left  all,  and  had  come  to  stay  as  long  as  she  wanted 
him,  and  that,  if  she  would  take  him  for  her  servant, 
1 68 


FRANgOIS  THE   WAIF 

he  would  ask  nothing  but  the  pleasure  of  working 
for  her,  and  the  solace  of  spending  his  life  in  her 
service. 

'*  Do  not  answer,"  he  continued;  ''  do  not  speak, 
my  dear  mother;  you  are  too  weak,  and  must  not 
say  a  word.  Only  look  at  me,  if  you  are  pleased  to 
see  me  again,  and  I  shall  understand  that  you  accept 
my  friendship  and  help." 

Madeleine  looked  at  him  so  serenely,  and  was  so 
much  comforted  by  what  he  said,  that  they  were 
contented  and  happy  together,  notwithstanding  the 
misfortune  of  her  illness. 

Jeannie,  who  came  in  answer  to  Catherine's  loud 
cries,  arrived  to  take  his  share  of  their  joy.  He  had 
grown  into  a  handsome  boy  between  fourteen  and 
fifteen,  and  though  not  strong,  he  was  delightfully 
active,  and  so  well  brought  up  that  he  was  always 
friendly  and  polite. 

**0h!  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you  like  this,  Jean- 
nie," said  Francois.  ''  You  are  not  very  tall  and 
strong,  but  I  am  satisfied,  because  I  think  you  will 
need  my  help  in  climbing  trees  and  crossing  the  river. 
I  see  that  you  are  delicate,  though  you  are  not  ill, 
is  n't  it  so  ?  Well,  you  shall  be  my  child,  still  a  little 
while  longer,  if  you  do  not  mind.  Yes,  yes;  you 
169 


FRANgOIS   THE  WAIF 

will  find  me  necessary  to  you;  and  you  will  make 
me  carry  out  your  wishes,  just  as  it  was  long  ago." 

*'  Yes,"  said  Jeannie;  ''  my  four  hundred  wishes,  as 
you  used  to  call  them." 

''Oho!  What  a  good  memory  you  have!  How 
nice  it  was  of  you,  Jeannie,  not  to  forget  Francois! 
But  have  we  still  four  hundred  wishes  a  day  ?  " 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Madeleine;  "he  has  grown  very 
reasonable;  he  has  no  more  than  two  hundred  now." 

"  No  more  nor  less  ?  "  asked  Francois. 

"Just  as  you  like,"  answered  Jeannie;  "since  my 
darling  mother  is  beginning  to  smile  again,  I  am 
ready  to  agree  to  anything.  I  am  even  willing  to 
say  that  I  wish  more  than  five  hundred  times  a  day 
to  see  her  well  again." 

"  That  is  right,  Jeannie,"  said  Francois.  "See  how 
nicely  he  talks!  Yes,  my  boy,  God  will  grant  those 
five  hundred  wishes  of  yours.  We  shall  take  such 
good  care  of  your  darling  mother,  and  shall  cheer 
and  gladden  her  little  by  little,  until  she  forgets  her 
weariness." 

Catherine  stood  at  the  threshold,  and  was  most 
anxious  to  come  in,  to  see  and  speak  to  Francois, 
but  Mariette  held  her  by  the  sleeve,  and  would  not 
leave  off  asking  questions. 
170 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

**  What,"  said  she,  "  is  he  a  foundling?  He  looks 
so  respectable." 

She  was  looking  through  the  crack  in  the  door, 
which  she  held  ajar. 

**How  comes  it  that  he  and  Madeleine  are  such 
friends  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you  that  she  brought  him  up,  and  that  he 
was  always  a  very  good  boy." 

''She  has  never  spoken  of  him  to  me,  nor  have 
you." 

"  Oh,  goodness,  no!  I  never  thought  of  it;  he 
was  away;  and  I  almost  forgot  him;  then,  I  knew, 
too,  that  my  mistress  had  been  in  trouble  on  his 
account,  and  I  did  not  wish  to  recall  it  to  her  mind." 

' '  Trouble !     What  kind  of  trouble  ?  " 

''Oh!  because  she  was  so  fond  of  him;  she  could 
not  help  liking  him,  he  had  such  a  good  heart,  poor 
child.  Your  brother  would  not  allow  him  in  the 
house,  and  you  know  your  brother  was  not  always 
very  gentle  ! " 

"We  must  not  say  that,  now  that  he  is  dead, 
Catherine." 

"  Yes,  yes;  you  are  right;  I  was  not  thinking. 
Dear  me,  how  short  my  memory  is!  And  yet  it  is 
only  two  weeks  since  he  died!  But  let  me  go  in, 
171 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

my  young  lady;  I  want  to  give  the  boy  some  dinner, 
for  I  think  he  must  be  hungry." 

She  shook  herself  loose,  ran  up  to  Francois,  and 
kissed  him.  He  was  so  handsome  that  she  no  longer 
remembered  having  once  said  that  she  would  rather 
kiss  her  sabot  than  a  foundling. 

''Oh,  poor  Francois,"  said  she,  *'how  glad  I  am 
to  see  you!  I  was  afraid  that  you  would  never  come 
back.  See,  my  dear  mistress,  how  changed  he  is!  I 
wonder  that  you  were  able  to  recognize  him  at  once. 
If  you  had  not  told  me  who  he  was,  I  should  not 
have  known  him  for  ages.  How  handsome  he  is, 
is  n't  he?  His  beard  is  beginning  to  grow;  yes,  you 
cannot  see  it  much,  but  you  can  feel  it.  It  did  not 
prick  when  you  went  away,  Fran(;:ois,  but  now  it 
pricks  a  little.  And  how  strong  you  are,  my  friend! 
What  hands  and  arms  and  legs  you  have !  A  work- 
man like  you  is  worth  three.  What  wages  are  you 
getting  now  ?  " 

Madeleine  laughed  softly  to  see  Catherine  so 
pleased  with  Francois,  and  was  overjoyed  that  he 
was  so  strong  and  vigorous.  She  wished  that  her 
Jeannie  might  grow  up  to  be  like  him.  Mariette 
was  ashamed  to  have  Catherine  look  so  boldly  in  a 
man's  face,  and  blushed  involuntarily.     But  the  more 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

she  tried  not  to  look  at  him,  the  more  her  eyes 
strayed  toward  him;  she  saw  that  Catherine  was 
right ;  he  was  certainly  remarkably  handsome,  tall 
and  erect  as  a  young  oak. 

Then,  without  stopping  to  think,  she  began  to 
serve  him  very  politely,  pouring  out  the  best  wine 
of  that  year's  vintage,  and  recalling  his  attention 
when  it  wandered  to  Madeleine  and  Jeannie,  and 
he  forgot  to  eat. 

''You  must  eat  more,"  said  she;  ''you  scarcely 
take  anything.  You  should  have  more  appetite 
after  so  long  a  journey." 

"Pay  no  attention  to  me,  young  lady,"  answered 
Francois,  at  last;  "I  am  too  happy  to  be  here  to 
care  about  eating  and  drinking.  Come  now," 
continued  he,  turning  to  Catherine,  when  the 
room  was  put  to  rights,  "show  me  round  the  mill 
and  the  house,  for  everything  looks  neglected,  and  I 
want  to  talk  to  you  about  it." 

When  they  were  outside,  he  questioned  her  intel- 
ligently on  the  state  of  things,  with  the  air  of  a  man 
determined  to  know  the  whole  truth. 

"Oh,  Francois,"  said  Catherine,  bursting  into 
tears,  "everything  is  going  to  grief,  and  if  nobody 
comes  to  the  assistance  of  my  poor  mistress,  I  be- 
173 


FRANCOIS   THE   WAIF 

lieve  that  wicked  woman  will  turn  her  out  of  doors, 
and  make  her  spend  all  she  owns  in  lawsuits." 

''Do  not  cry,"  said  Francois,  ''for  if  you  do,  I 
cannot  understand  what  you  say;  try  to  speak  more 
clearly.  What  wicked  woman  do  you  mean  ?  Is  it 
Severe?" 

"Oh!  yes,  to  be  sure.  She  is  not  content  with 
having  ruined  our  master,  but  now  lays  claim  to 
everything  he  left.  She  is  trying  to  prosecute  us  in 
.  fifty  different  ways;  she  says  that  Cadet  Blanchet 
;  gave  her  promissory  notes,  and  that  even  if  she  sold 
\  everything  over  our  heads,  she  would  not  be  paid. 
She  sends  us  bailiffs  every  day,  and  the  expenses  are 
already  considerable.  Our  mistress  has  paid  all  she 
could,  in  trying  to  pacify  her,  and  I  am  very  much 
afraid  that  she  will  die  of  this  worry,  on  top  of  all 
the  fatigue  she  underwent  during  her  husband's  ill- 
ness. At  this  rate,  we  shall  soon  be  without  food 
and  fire.  The  servant  of  the  mill  has  left  us,  be- 
cause he  was  owed  two  years'  wages,  and  could  not 
be  paid.  The  mill  has  stopped  running,  and  if  this 
goes  on,  we  shall  lose  our  customers.  The  horses 
and  crops  have  been  attached,  and  are  to  be  sold; 
the  trees  are  to  be  cut  down.  Oh,  Francois,  it  is 
ruin ! " 

'74 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

Her  tears  began  to  flow  afresh. 

''And  how  about  you,  Catherine?"  asked  Fran- 
cois; ''are  you  a  creditor,  too?  Have  your  wages 
been  paid  ?  " 

"I,  a  creditor?"  said  Catherine,  changing  her  wail 
into  a  roar;  "never,  never!  It  is  nobody's  business 
whether  my  wages  are  paid  or  not!  " 

"Good  for  you,  Catherine;  you  show  the  right 
spirit!"  said  Francois.  "Keep  on  taking  care  of 
your  mistress,  and  do  not  bother  about  the  rest.  I 
have  earned  a  little  money  in  my  last  place,  and  I 
have  enough  with  me  to  save  the  horses,  the  crops, 
and  the  trees.  I  am  going  to  pay  a  little  visit  to  the 
mill,  and  if  I  find  it  in  disorder,  I  shall  not  need  a 
wheelwright  to  set  it  going  again.  Jeannie  is  as 
swift  as  a  little  bird,  and  he  must  set  out  immedi- 
ately and  run  all  day,  and  then  begin  again  to-mor- 
row morning,  so  as  to  let  all  the  customers  know 
that  the  mill  is  creaking  like  ten  thousand  devils, 
and  that  the  miller  is  waiting  to  grind  the  corn." 

"Shall  we  send  for  a  doctor  for  our  mistress?" 

"I  have  been  thinking  about  it;  but  I  am  going 
to  wait  and  watch  her  all  day,  before  making  up  my 
mind. 

"  Do  vou  see,  Catherine,  I  believe  that  doctors  are 
175 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

useful  when  the  sick  cannot  do  without  them;  but 
if  the  disease  is  not  violent,  it  is  easier  to  recover 
with  God's  help,  than  with  their  drugs:  not  taking 
into  consideration  that  the  mere  presence  of  a  doc- 
tor, which  cures  the  rich,  often  kills  the  poor.  He 
cheers  and  amuses  those  who  live  in  luxury,  but  he 
scares  and  oppresses  those  who  never  see  him  ex- 
cept in  the  day  of  danger.  It  seems  to  me  that 
Madame  Blanchet  will  recover  very  soon,  if  her 
affairs  are  straightened. 

**And  before  we  finish  this  conversation,  Cathe- 
rine, tell  me  one  thing  more;  I  ask  the  truth  of  you, 
and  you  must  not  scruple  to  tell  it  to  me.  It  will 
go  no  further;  I  have  not  changed,  and  if  you 
remember  me,  you  must  know  that  a  secret  is  safe 
in  the  waifs  bosom." 

''Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  said  Catherine;  ''but  why 
do  you  consider  yourself  a  waif?  Nobody  will  call 
you  any  more  by  that  name,  for  you  do  not  deserve 
it,  Francois." 

"Never  mind  that.  I  shall  always  be  what  I  am, 
and  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  plaguing  myself  about 
it.  Tell  me  what  you  thirak  of  your  young  mistress, 
Mariette  Blanchet." 

"Oh,  she!  She  is  a  pretty  girl.  Have  you  al- 
176 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

ready  taken  it  into  your  head  to  marry  her?  She 
has  some  money  of  her  own ;  her  brother  could  not 
touch  her  property,  because  she  was  a  minor,  and 
unless  you  have  fallen  heir  to  an  estate,  Master 
Francois  — " 

''Waifs  never  inherit  anything,"  said  Francois, 
''and  as  to  marrying,  I  have  as  much  time  to  think 
of  it  as  the  chestnut  in  the  fire.  What  I  want  to 
hear  from  you  is  whether  this  girl  is  better  than  her 
brother,  and  whether  she  will  prove  a  source  of 
comfort  or  trouble  to  Madeleine,  if  she  stays  on 
here." 

"Heaven  knows,"  said  Catherine,  "for  I  do  not. 
Until  now,  she  has  been  thoughtless  and  innocent 
enough.  She  likes  dress,  caps  trimmed  with  lace, 
and  dancing.  She  is  not  very  selfish,  but  she  has 
been  so  well-treated  and  spoiled  by  Madeleine,  that 
she  has  never  had  occasion  to  show  whether  she 
could  bite  or  not.  She  has  never  had  anything  to 
suffer,  so  we  cannot  tell  what  she  may  be." 

"  Was  she  very  fond  of  her  brother?  " 

"  Not  very,  except  when  he  took  her  to  balls,  and 

our  mistress  tried  to  convince  him  that  it  was  not 

proper  to  take  a  respectable  girl  in  Severe's  company. 

Then  the  little  girl,  who  thought  of  nothing  but  her 

177 


FRANgOIS   THE  WAIF 

own  pleasure,  overwhelmed  her  brother  with  atten- 
tions, and  turned  up  her  nose  at  Madeleine,  who 
was  obliged  to  yield.  So  Mariette  does  not  dislike 
Severe  as  much  as  I  should  wish  to  have  her,  but 
I  cannot  say  that  she  is  not  good-natured  and  nice 
to  her  sister-in-law." 

"That  will  do,  Catherine;  I  ask  nothing  further. 
Only  I  forbid  you  to  tell  the  young  girl  anything  of 
what  we  have  been  talking  about." 

Francois  accomplished  successfully  all  that  he  had 
promised  Catherine.  By  evening,  owing  to  Jeannie's 
diligence,  corn  arrived  to  be  ground,  and  the  mill 
too  was  in  working  order;  the  ice  was  broken  and 
melted  about  the  wheel,  the  machinery  was  oiled, 
and  the  woodwork  repaired,  wherever  it  was  broken. 
The  energetic  Francois  worked  till  two  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  at  four  he  was  up  again.  He  stepped 
noiselessly  into  Madeleine's  room,  and  finding  the 
faithful  Catherine  on  guard,  he  asked  how  the  pa- 
tient was.  She  had  slept  well,  happy  in  the  arrival 
of  her  beloved  servant,  and  in  the  efficient  aid  he 
brought.  Catherine  refused  to  leave  her  mistress 
before  Mariette  appeared,  and  Francois  asked  at 
what  hour  the  beauty  of  Cormouer  was  in  the  habit 
of  rising. 

178 


FRANCOIS  THE   WAIF 

*'Not  before  daylight,"  said  Catherine. 

"What?  Then  you  have  two  more  hours  to 
wait,  and  you  will  get  no  sleep  at  all." 

**  I  sleep  a  little  in  the  daytime,  in  my  chair,  or  on 
the  straw  in  the  barn,  while  the  cows  are  feeding." 

"  Very  well,  go  to  bed  now,"  said  Francois,  "  and 
I  shall  wait  here  to  show  the  young  lady  that  some 
people  go  to  bed  later  than  she,  and  get  up  earlier 
in  the  morning.  I  shall  busy  myself  with  examining 
the  miller's  papers  and  those  which  the  bailiffs  have 
brought  since  his  death.     Where  are  they?" 

"  There,  in  Madeleine's  chest,"  said  Catherine. 
'*  I  am  going  to  light  the  lamp,  Francois.  Come, 
courage,  and  try  your  best  to  make  things  straight, 
as  you  seem  to  understand  law-papers." 

She  went  to  bed,  obeying  the  commands  of  the 
waif  as  if  he  were  the  master  of  the  house;  for  true 
it  is  that  he  who  has  a  good  head  and  good  heart 
rules  by  his  own  right. 


179 


CHAPTER    XIX 

BEFORE  setting  to  work,  Francois,  as  soon  as 
he  was  left  alone  with  Madeleine  and  Jeannie 
(for  the  young  child  always  slept  in  the  room  with 
his  mother),  went  to  take  a  look  at  the  sleeping 
woman,  and  thought  her  appearance  better  than 
when  he  had  first  arrived.  He  was  happy  to  think 
that  she  would  have  no  need  of  a  doctor,  and  that 
he  alone,  by  the  comfort  he  brought,  would  preserve 
her  health  and  fortune. 

He  began  to  look  over  the  papers,  and  was  soon 
fully  acquainted  with  Severe's  claims  and  the  amount 
of  property  that  Madeleine  still  possessed  with  which 
to  satisfy  them.  Besides  all  that  Severe  had  already 
made  Cadet  Blanchet  squander  upon  her,  she  de- 
clared that  she  was  still  a  creditor  for  two  hundred 
pistoles,  and  Madeleine  had  scarcely  anything  of  her 
own  property  left  in  addition  to  the  inheritance  that 
Blanchet  had  bequeathed  to  Jeannie  —  an  inheritance 
1 80 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

now  reduced  to  the  mill  and  its  immediate  belong- 
ings—  that  is,  the  courtyard,  the  meadow,  the  out- 
buildings, the  garden,  the  hemp-field,  and  a  bit  of 
planted  ground;  for  the  broad  fields  and  acres  had 
melted  like  snow  in  the  hands  of  Cadet  Blanchet. 

*^  Thank  God  !  "  thought  Francois,  *'  I  have  four 
hundred  pistoles  in  the  charge  of  the  priest  of  Aigu- 
rande,  and  in  case  I  can  do  no  better,  Madeleine  can 
still  have  her  house,  the  income  of  her  mill,  and 
what  remains  of  her  dowry.  But  I  think  we  can  get 
off  more  easily  than  that.  In  the  first  place,  I  must 
find  out  whether  the  notes  signed  by  Blanchet  to 
Severe  were  not  extorted  by  strategem  and  undue 
influence,  and  then  I  must  do  a  stroke  of  business 
on  the  lands  he  sold.  I  understand  how  such  affairs 
are  managed,  and  knowing  the  names  of  the  pur- 
chasers, I  will  put  my  hand  in  the  fire  if  I  cannot 
bring  this  to  a  successful  issue." 

The  fact  was  that  Blanchet,  two  or  three  years 
before  his  death,  straightened  for  money  and  over 
head  and  ears  in  debt  to  Severe,  had  sold  his  land 
at  a  low  price  to  whomsoever  wanted  to  buy,  and 
turned  all  his  claims  for  it  over  to  Severe,  thus  ex- 
pecting to  rid  himself  of  her  and  of  her  comrades 
who  had  helped  her  to  ruin  him.     But,  as  usually 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

happens  in  such  sales,  almost  all  those  who  has- 
tened to  buy,  attracted  by  the  sweet  fragrance  of 
the  fertile  lands,  had  not  a  penny  with  which  to  pay 
for  them,  and  only  discharged  the  interest  with  great 
difficulty.  This  state  of  things  might  last  from  ten 
to  twenty  years  ;  it  was  an  investment  for  Severe 
and  her  friends,  but  a  bad  investment,  and  she  com- 
plained loudly  of  Cadet  Blanchet's  rashness,  and 
feared  that  she  would  never  be  paid.  So  she  said, 
at  least ;  but  the  speculation  was  really  a  reasonably 
good  one.  The  peasant,  even  if  he  has  to  lie  on 
straw,  pays  his  interest,  so  unwilling  is  he  to  let  go 
the  bit  of  land  he  holds,  which  his  creditor  may 
seize  if  he  is  not  satisfied. 

We  all  know  this,  my  good  friends,  and  we  often 
try  to  grow  rich  the  wrong  way,  by  buying  fine 
property  at  a  low  price.  However  low  it  may  be,  it 
is  always  too  high  for  us.  Our  covetousness  is  more 
capacious  than  our  purse,  and  we  take  no  end  of 
trouble  to  cultivate  a  field  the  produce  of  which  does 
not  cover  half  the  interest  exacted  by  the  seller. 

When  we  have  delved  and  sweated  all  our  poor 

lives,  we  find  ourselves  ruined,  and  the  earth  alone 

is  enriched  by  our  pains  and  toil.     Just  as  we  have 

doubled  its  value,  we  are  obliged  to  sell  it.     If  we 

182 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

could  sell  it  advantageously,  we  should  be  safe ;  but 
this  is  never  possible.  We  have  been  so  drained 
by  the  interest  we  have  had  to  pay,  that  we  must 
sell  in  haste,  and  for  anything  we  can  get.  If  we 
rebel,  we  are  forced  into  it  by  the  law-courts,  and 
the  man  who  first  sold  the  land  gets  back  his  prop- 
erty in  the  condition  in  which  he  finds  it;  that  means 
that  for  long  years  he  has  placed  his  land  in  our  hands 
at  eight  or  ten  per  cent.,  and  when  he  resumes  pos- 
session of  it,  it  is  by  our  labors,  twice  as  valuable,  in 
consequence  of  a  careful  cultivation  which  has  cost 
him  neither  trouble  nor  expense,  and  also  by  the 
lapse  of  time  which  always  increases  the  value  of 
property.  Thus  we  poor  little  minnows  are  to  be 
continually  devoured  by  the  big  fish  which  pursue 
us;  punished  always  for  our  love  of  gain,  and  just  as 
foolish  as  we  were  before. 

Severe's  money  was  thus  profitably  invested  in  a 
mortgage  at  a  high  interest,  but  at  the  same  time 
she  had  a  firm  hold  of  Cadet  Blanchet's  estate,  be- 
cause she  had  managed  him  so  cleverly  that  he  had 
pledged  himself  for  the  purchasers  of  his  land,  and 
had  gone  surety  for  their  payment. 

Fran<;:ois  saw  all  this  intrigue,  and  meditated  some 
possible  means  of  buying  back  the  land  at  a  low 

.83 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

price,  without  ruining  anybody,  and  of  playing  a 
fine  trick  upon  Severe  and  her  clan,  by  causing  the 
failure  of  their  speculation. 

It  was  no  easy  matter.  He  had  enough  money 
to  buy  back  almost  everything  at  the  price  of  the 
original  sale,  and  neither  Severe  nor  anybody  else 
could  refuse  to  be  reimbursed.  The  buyers  would 
find  it  to  their  profit  to  sell  again  in  all  haste,  in 
order  to  escape  approaching  ruin  ;  for  I  tell  you 
all,  young  ana  old,  if  you  buy  land  on  credit,  you 
take  out  a  patent  for  beggary  in  your  old  age.  It  is 
useless  for  me  to  tell  you  this,  for  you  will  have  the 
buying  mania  no  whit  the  less.  Nobody  can  see  a 
plowed  furrow  smoking  in  the  sun,  without  being 
in  a  fever  to  possess  it,  and  it  was  the  peasant's  mad 
fever  to  hold  on  to  his  own  piece  of  soil  that  caused 
Francois's  uneasiness. 

Do  you  know  what  the  soil  is,  my  children?  Once 
upon  a  time,  everybody  in  our  parishes  was  talking 
about  it.  They  said  that  the  old  nobles  had  attached 
us  to  the  soil  to  make  us  drudge  and  die,  but  the 
Revolution  had  burst  our  bonds,  and  that  we  no 
longer  drew  our  master's  cart  like  oxen.  The  truth 
is  that  we  have  bound  ourselves  to  our  own  acres, 
and  we  drudge  and  die  no  less  than  before. 
184 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

The  city  people  tell  us  that  our  only  remedy 
would  be  to  have  no  wants  or  desires.  Only  last 
Sunday,  I  answered  a  man  who  was  preaching  this 
doctrine  very  eloquently,  that  if  we  poor  peasants 
could  only  be  sensible  enough  never  to  eat  or  sleep, 
to  work  all  the  time,  and  to  drink  nothing  but  fresh 
Clearwater,  provided  the  frogs  had  no  objection,  we 
might  succeed  in  saving  a  goodly  hoard,  and  in  re- 
ceiving a  shower  of  compliments  for  our  wisdom  and 
discretion. 

Following  this  same  train  of  thought,  Francois 
cudgeled  his  brains  to  find  some  means  of  induc- 
ing the  purchasers  of  the  land  to  sell  it  back  again. 
He  finally  hit  upon  the  plan  of  whispering  in  their 
ears  the  little  falsehood,  that  though  Severe  had  the 
reputation  of  being  fabulously  rich,  she  had  really  as 
many  debts  as  a  sieve  has  holes,  and  that  some  fine 
morning  her  creditors  would  lay  hands  upon  all  her 
claims,  as  well  as  upon  all  her  property.  He  meant 
to  tell  them  this  confidentially,  and  when  they  were 
thoroughly  alarmed,  he  expected  to  buy  back  Made- 
leine Blanchet's  lands  at  the  original  price,  with  his 
own  money. 

He  scrupled,  however,  to  tell  this  untruth,  until  it 
occurred  to  him  that  he  could  give  a  small  bonus  to 

.85 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

all  the  poor  purchasers,  to  make  them  amends  for 
the  interest  they  had  already  paid.  In  this  manner 
Madeleine  could  be  restored  to  her  rights  and  pos- 
sessions without  loss  or  injury  to  the  purchasers. 

The  discredit  in  which  Severe  would  be  involved 
by  his  plan  caused  him  no  scruple  whatever.  It  is 
right  for  the  hen  to  pull  out  a  feather  from  the  cruel 
bird  that  has  plucked  her  chickens. 

When  Francois  had  reached  this  conclusion,  Jean- 
nie  awoke,  and  arose  softly,  to  avoid  disturbing  his 
mother's  slumbers  ;  then,  after  a  good-morning  to 
Francois,  he  lost  no  time  in  going  off  to  announce  to 
the  rest  of  their  customers  that  the  mill  was  in  good 
order,  and  that  a  strong  young  miller  stood  in  readi- 
ness to  grind  the  corn. 


186 


CHAPTER      XX 


IT  was  already  broad  daylight  when  Mariette  Blan- 
chet  emerged  from  her  nest,  carefully  attired  in 
her  mourning,  which  was  so  very  black  and  so  very 
white  that  she  looked  as  spick  and  span  as  a  little 
magpie.  The  poor  child  had  one  great  care,  and  that 
was  that  her  mourning  would  long  prevent  her  going 
to  dances,  and  that  all  her  admirers  would  be  missing 
her.  Her  heart  was  so  good  that  she  pitied  them 
greatly. 

*'  How  is  this?  "  said  she,  as  she  saw  Francois  ar- 
ranging the  papers  in  Madeleine's  room.  '*  You  attend 
to  everything  here,  Master  Miller!  You  make  flour, 
you  settle  the  business,  you  mix  the  medicines;  soon 
we  shall  see  you  sewing  and  spinning." 

''  And  you,  my  young  lady,"  said  Francois,  who 
saw  that  she  regarded  him  favorably,  although  she 
slashed  him  with  her  tongue,  "  I  have  never  as  yet 
seen  you  sewing  or  spinning;  I  think  we  shall  soon 

187 


FRANgOIS  THE   WAIF 

find  you  sleeping  till  noon,  and  it  will  do  you  good, 
and  keep  your  cheeks  rosy  !  " 

*'Oho  !  Master  Francois,  you  are  already  begin- 
ning to  tell  me  truths  about  myself.  You  had  better 
take  care  of  that  little  game ;  I  can  tell  you  some- 
thing in  return." 

''  I  await  your  pleasure,  my  young  lady." 

"  It  will  soon  come;  do  not  be  afraid,  Master  Mil- 
ler. Have  the  kindness  to  tell  me  where  Catherine 
is,  and  why  you  are  here  watching  beside  our  patient. 
Should  you  like  a  hood  and  gown  ?  " 

"  Are  you  going  to  ask,  in  your  turn,  for  a  cap  and 
blouse,  so  that  you  may  go  to  the  mill  ?  As  I  see 
you  do  no  woman's  work,  which  would  be  nursing 
your  sister  for  a  little  while,  I  suppose  you  would 
like  to  sift  out  the  chaff,  and  turn  the  grindstone. 
At  your  service.     Let  us  change  clothes." 

*'  It  looks  as  if  you  were  trying  to  give  me  a  les- 
son." 

"No  ;  you  gave  me  one  first,  and  I  am  only  re- 
turning, out  of  politeness,  what  you  lent  me." 

' '  Good !  You  like  to  laugh  and  tease,  but  you  have 
chosen  the  wrong  time.  We  are  not  merry  here, 
and  it  is  only  a  short  time  ago  that  we  had  to  go  to 
the  graveyard.     If  you    chatter  so  much,  you  will 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

prevent  my  sister-in-law  from  getting  the  sleep  she 
needs  so  greatly." 

"  On  that  very  account,  you  should  not  raise  your 
voice  so  much,  my  young  lady;  for  I  am  speaking 
very  low,  and  you  are  not  speaking,  just  now,  as 
you  should  in  a  sick-room." 

"  Enough,  if  you  please,  Master  Francois,"  said 
Mariette,  lowering  her  tone,  and  flushing  angrily. 
"  Be  so  good  as  to  see  if  Catherine  is  at  hand,  and 
tell  me  why  she  leaves  my  sister-in-law  in  your 
charge." 

"  Excuse  me,  my  young  lady,"  said  Francois,  with 
no  sign  of  temper.  ''  She  could  not  leave  her  in  your 
charge,  because  you  are  too  fond  of  sleeping,  so  she 
was  obliged  to  intrust  her  to  mine.  I  shall  not  call 
her,  because  the  poor  woman  is  jaded  with  fatigue. 
Without  meaning  to  offend  you,  I  must  say  that  she 
has  been  sitting  up  every  night  for  two  weeks.  I  sent 
her  off  to  bed,  and,  until  noon,  I  mean  to  do  her 
work  and  mine  too,  for  it  is  only  right  for  us  all  to 
help  one  another." 

'*  Listen,  Master  Francois,"  said  the   young  girl, 

with  a  sudden  change  of  tone  ;  * '  you  appear  to  hint 

that  I  think  only  of  myself  and  leave  all  the  work  to 

others.     Perhaps  I  should  have  sat  up  in  my  turn,  if 

189 


FRANgOIS  THE   WAIF 

Catherine  had  told  me  that  she  was  tired;  but  she 
insisted  that  she  was  not  at  all  tired,  and  I  did  not 
understand  that  my  sister  was  so  seriously  ill.  You 
think  that  I  have  a  bad  heart,  but  I  cannot  imagine 
where  you  have  learned  it.  You  never  knew  me 
before  yesterday,  and  we  are  not,  as  yet,  intimate 
enough  for  you  to  scold  me  as  you  do.  You  behave 
exactly  as  if  you  were  the  head  of  the  family,  and 
yet  —  " 

''Come,  out  with  it,  beautiful  Mariette,  say  what 
you  have  on  the  tip  of  your  tongue.  And  yet  I  was 
taken  in  and  brought  up  out  of  charity,  is  not  it  so? 
And  I  cannot  belong  to  the  family,  because  I  have 
no  family;  I  have  no  right  to  it,  as  I  am  a  foundling! 
Is  that  all  you  wanted  to  say  ?  " 

As  Franpois  gave  Mariette  this  straightforward 
answer,  he  looked  at  her  in  a  way  that  made  her 
blush  up  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  for  she  saw  that  his 
expression  was  that  of  a  stern  and  serious  person, 
although  he  appeared  so  serene  and  gentle  that  it 
was  impossible  to  irritate  him,  or  to  make  him  think 
or  say  anything  unjust. 

The  poor  child,  who  was  ordinarily  so  ready  with 
her  tongue,  was  overawed  for  a  moment,  but  al- 
though she  was  a  little  frightened,  she  still  felt  a 
190 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

desire  to  please  this  handsome  fellow,  who  spoke  so 
decidedly  and  looked  her  so  frankly  in  the  eyes. 
She  was  so  confused  and  embarrassed,  that  it  was 
with  difficulty  she  restrained  her  tears,  and  she 
turned  her  face  quickly  the  other  way,  to  hide  her 
emotion. 

He  observed  it,  however,  and  said  very  kindly: 

*M  am  not  angry,  Mariette,  and  you  have  no 
cause  to  be,  on  your  part.  I  think  no  ill  of  you;  I 
see  only  that  you  are  young,  that  there  is  misfortune 
in  the  house,  and  that  you  are  thoughtless.  I  must 
tell  you  what  I  think  about  it." 

''What  do  you  think  about  it?"  asked  she;  ''tell 
me  at  once,  that  I  may  know  whether  you  are  my 
friend  or  my  enemy." 

"I  think  that  you  are  not  fond  of  the  care  and 
pains  people  take  for  those  whom  they  love,  who 
are  in  trouble.  You  like  to  have  your  time  to  your- 
self, to  turn  everything  into  sport,  to  think  about 
your  dress,  your  lovers,  and  your  marriage  by  and 
by,  and  you  do  not  mind  having  others  do  your 
share.  If  you  have  any  heart,  my  pretty  child,  if 
you  really  love  your  sister-in-law,  and  your  dear 
little  nephew,  and  even  the  poor,  faithful  servant 
who  is  capable  of  dying  in  harness  like  a  good  horse, 
191 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

you  must  wake  up  a  little  earlier  in  the  morning, 
you  must  care  for  Madeleine,  comfort  Jeannie,  relieve 
Catherine,  and,  above  all,  shut  your  ears  to  the 
enemy  of  the  family,  Madame  Severe,  w^ho  is,  I 
assure  you,  a  very  bad  woman.  Now  you  know 
what  I  think,  neither  more  nor  less." 

'/ 1  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Mariette,  rather  dryly; 
''  and  now  please  tell  me  by  what  right  you  wish  to 
make  me  think  as  you  do." 

''Oh!  This  is  the  way  you  take  it,  is  it?"  an- 
swered Francois.  ''My  right  is  the  waifs  right,  and 
to  tell  you  the  whole  truth,  the  right  of  the  child 
who  was  taken  in  and  brought  up  by  Madame 
Blanchet;  for  this,  it  is  my  duty  to  love  her  as  my 
mother,  and  my  right  to  try  to  requite  her  for  her 
kindness." 

"I  have  no  fault  to  find,"  returned  Mariette, 
"  and  I  see  that  I  cannot  do  better  than  give  you 
my  respect  at  once,  and  my  friendship  as  time  goes 
on." 

"  I  like  that,"  said  Francois;  "  shake  hands  with 
me  on  it." 

He  strode  toward  her,  holding  out  his  great  hand, 
without  the  slightest  awkwardness;  but  the  little 
Mariette  was  suddenly  stung  by  the  fly  of  coquetry, 
192 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

and,  withdrawing  her  hand,  she  announced  that  it 
was  not  proper  to  shake  hands  so  familiarly  with  a 
young  man. 

Francois  laughed  and  left  her,  seeing  plainly  that 
she  was  not  frank,  and  that  her  first  object  was  to 
entangle  him  in  a  flirtation. 

'^Now,  my  pretty  girl,"  thought  he,  "you  are 
much  mistaken  in  me,  and  we  shall  not  be  friends 
in  the  way  you  mean." 

He  went  up  to  Madeleine,  who  had  just  waked, 
and  who  said  to  him,  taking  both  his  hands  in  hers: 

"  I  have  slept  well,  my  son,  and  God  is  gracious 
to  let  me  see  your  face  first  of  all,  on  waking.  How 
is  it  that  Jeannie  is  not  with  you?" 

Then,  after  hearing  his  explanation,  she  spoke 
some  kind  words  to  Mariette,  telling  the  young  girl 
how  sorry  she  was  to  have  her  sit  up  all  night,  and 
assuring  her  that  she  needed  no  such  great  care. 
Mariette  expected  Francois  to  say  that  she  had  risen 
very  late;  but  Francois  said  nothing  and  left  her 
alone  with  Madeleine,  who  had  no  more  fever  and 
wanted  to  try  to  get  up. 

After  three  days,  she  was  so  much  better  that  she 
was  able  to  talk  over  business  affairs  with  Francois. 

'^  You  may  put  yourself  at  ease,  my  dear  mother," 
^3  193 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

said  he.  "I  sharpened  my  wits  when  I  was  away 
from  here,  and  I  understand  business  pretty  well.  I 
mean  to  see  you  through  these  straits,  and  I  shall 
succeed.  Let  me  have  my  way;  please  do  not  con- 
tradict anything  I  say,  and  sign  all  the  papers  I  shall 
bring  you.  Now,  that  my  mind  is  at  ease  on  the 
score  of  your  health,  I  am  going  to  town  to  consult 
some  lawyers.  It  is  market-day,  and  I  shall  find 
some  people  there  whom  I  want  to  see,  and  I  do  not 
think  my  time  will  be  wasted." 

He  did  as  he  said;  and  after  receiving  instructions 
and  advice  from  the  lawyers,  he  saw  clearly  that  the 
last  promissory  notes  which  Blanchet  had  given 
Severe  would  be  a  good  subject  for  a  lawsuit ;  for 
he  had  signed  them  when  he  was  beside  himself 
with  drink,  fever,  and  infatuation.  Severe  believed 
that  Madeleine  would  not  dare  to  go  to  law,  on  ac- 
count of  the  expense.  Fran(;:ois  was  unwilling  to 
advise  Madame  Blanchet  to  embark  in  a  lawsuit, 
but  he  thought  there  was  a  reasonable  chance  of 
bringing  the  matter  to  an  amicable  close,  if  he  began 
by  putting  a  bold  face  on  it ;  and  as  he  needed 
somebody  to  carry  a  message  into  the  enemy's 
camp,  he  bethought  himself  of  a  plan  which  suc- 
ceeded perfectly. 

194 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

For  several  days  he  had  watched  little  Mariette, 
and  assured  himself  that  she  took  a  daily  walk  in 
the  direction  of  Dollins,  where  Severe  lived,  and  that 
she  was  on  more  friendly  terms  with  this  woman 
than  he  could  wish,  chiefly  because  she  met  at  her 
house  all  her  young  acquaintances,  and  some  men 
from  town  who  made  love  to  her.  She  did  not 
listen  to  them,  for  she  was  still  an  innocent  girl,  and 
had  no  idea  that  the  wolf  was  so  near  the  sheep- 
fold,  but  she  loved  flattery,  and  was  as  thirsty  for 
it  as  a  fly  for  milk.  She  kept  her  walks  secret  from 
Madeleine ;  and  as  Madeleine  never  gossiped  with 
the  other  women,  and  had  not  as  yet  left  her  sick- 
room, she  guessed  nothing,  and  suspected  no  evil. 
Big  Catherine  was  the  last  person  in  the  world  to 
notice  anything,  so  that  the  little  girl  cocked  her  cap 
over  her  ear,  and,  under  the  pretext  of  driving  the 
sheep  to  pasture,  she  soon  left  them  in  charge  of 
some  little  shepherd-boy,  and  was  off  to  play  the 
fine  lady  in  poor  company. 

Franfois,  however,  who  was  going  continually 
to  and  fro  on  the  affairs  of  the  mill,  took  note  of 
what  the  girl  was  doing.  He  never  mentioned  it 
at  home,  but  turned  it  to  account,  as  you  shall 
hear. 

>95 


CHAPTER    XXI 

HE  planted  himself  directly  in  her  way  at  the 
river-crossing  ;  and  just  as  she  stepped  on 
the  foot-bridge  which  leads  to  Dollins,  she  beheld 
the  waif,  astride  of  the  plank,  a  leg  dangling  on  each 
side  above  the  water,  and  on  his  face  the  expression 
of  a  man  who  has  all  the  time  in  the  world  to 
spare.  She  blushed  *as  red  as  a  cherry,  and  if  she 
had  not  been  taken  so  by  surprise,  she  would  have 
swerved  aside,  and  pretended  to  be  passing  by 
accident. 

But  the  approach  to  the  bridge  was  obstructed 
by  branches,  and  she  did  not  see  the  wolf  till  she 
felt  his  teeth.  His  face  was  turned  toward  her,  so 
she  had  no  means  of  advancing  or  retreating,  with- 
out being  observed. 

''Master  Miller,"  she  began,  saucily,  *' can't  you 
move  a  hairbreadth  to  let  anybody  pass?  " 

'*No,  my  young  lady,"  replied  Francois,  ''for  I 
196 


FRANgOIS   THE  WAIF 

am  the  guardian  of  this  bridge  till  evening,  and  I 
claim  the  right  to  collect  toll  of  everybody." 

"Are  you  mad,  Francois?  Nobody  pays  toll  in 
our  country,  and  you  have  no  right  on  any  bridge, 
or  foot-bridge,  or  whatever  you  may  call  it  in  your 
country  of  Aigurande.  You  may  say  what  you  like, 
but  take  yourself  off  from  here,  as  quickly  as  you 
can;  this  is  not  the  place  for  jesting;  you  will  make 
me  tumble  into  the  water." 

"  Then,"  said  Francois,  without  moving,  and  fold- 
ing his  arms  in  front  of  him,  ''you  think  that  I  want 
to  laugh  and  joke  with  you,  and  that  my  right  of 
toll  is  that  of  paying  you  my  court  ?  Pray  get  rid 
of  that  idea,  my  young  lady;  I  wish  to  speak  sensi- 
bly to  you,  and  I  will  allow  you  to  pass  if  you  give 
me  permission  to  accompany  you  for  a  short  part  of 
your  way." 

"  That  would  not  be  at  all  proper,"  said  Mariette, 
somewhat  flustered  by  her  notion  of  what  Francois 
was  thinking.  **  What  would  they  say  of  me  here- 
abouts, if  anybody  met  me  out  walking  alone  with 
a  man  to  whom  I  am  not  betrothed  ?  " 

''You  are  right,"  said  Francois;  "  as  Severe  is  not 
here  to  protect  you,  people  would  talk  of  you;  that 
is  why  you  are  going  to  her  house,  so  that  you  may 
13*  197 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

walk  about  in  her  garden  with  all  your  admirers. 
Very  well,  so  as  not  to  embarrass  you,  I  shall  speak 
to  you  here,  and  briefly,  for  my  business  is  pressing, 
and  this  it  is.  You  are  a  good  girl;  you  love  your 
sister-in-law  Madeleine;  you  see  that  she  is  in  diffi- 
culties, and  you  must  want  to  help  her  out  of  them." 

"If  that  is  what  you  want  to  say,"  returned 
Mariette,  *'  I  shall  listen  to  you,  for  you  are  speaking 
the  truth." 

''  Very  well,  my  dear  young  lady,"  said  Francois, 
rising  and  leaning  beside  her,  against  the  bank  beside 
the  little  bridge,  "you  can  do  a  great  service  to 
Madame  Blanchet.  Since  it  is  for  her  good  and  in- 
terest, as  I  fondly  believe,  that  you  are  so  friendly 
with  Severe,  you  must  make  that  woman  agree  to  a 
compromise.  Severe  is  trying  to  attain  two  objects 
which  are  incompatible  :  she  wants  to  make  Master 
Blanchet's  estate  security  for  the  payment  of  the  land 
he  sold  for  the  purpose  of  paying  his  debts  to  her; 
and  in  the  second  place,  she  means  to  exact  payment 
of  the  notes  which  he  signed  in  her  favor.  She  may 
go  to  law,  if  she  likes,  and  wrangle  about  this  poor 
little  estate,  but  she  cannot  succeed  in  getting  more 
out  of  it  than  there  is.  Make  her  understand  that  if 
she  does  not  insist  upon  our  guaranteeing  the  pay- 
198 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

ment  of  the  land,  we  can  pay  her  notes;  but  if  she 
does  not  allow  us  to  get  rid  of  one  debt,  we  shall  not 
have  funds  enough  to  pay  the  other,  and  if  she  makes 
us  drain  ourselves  with  expenses  which  bring  her  no 
profit,  she  runs  the  risk  of  losing  everything." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Mariette;  **  although  I  under- 
stand very  little  about  business,  I  think  I  can  under- 
stand as  much  as  that.  If  I  am  able,  by  any  chance, 
to  influence  her,  which  would  be  better:  for  my  sis- 
ter-in-law to  pay  the  notes,  or  to  be  obliged  to  re- 
deem the  security  ?  " 

**  It  would  be  worse  for  her  to  pay  the  notes,  for 
it  would  be  more  unjust.  We  could  contest  the  notes 
and  go  to  law  about  them;  but  the  law  requires 
money,  and  you  know  that  there  is  none,  and  never 
will  be  any,  at  the  mill.  So,  it  is  all  one  to  your 
sister,  whether  her  little  all  goes  in  a  lawsuit  or  in 
paying  Severe ;  whereas  it  is  better  for  Severe  to  be 
paid,  without  having  a  lawsuit. 

"As  Madeleine  is  sure  to  be  ruined  in  either  case, she 
prefers  to  have  all  her  possessions  seized  at  once,  than 
to  drag  on  after  this  under  a  heavy  burden  of  debt, 
which  may  last  all  her  lifetime;  for  the  purchasers  of 
Cadet  Blanchet's  land  are  not  able  to  pay  for  it. 
Severe  knows  this  well,  and  will  be  forced,  some  fine 
199 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

day,  to  take  back  her  land;  but  this  idea  is  not  at  all 
distressing  to  her,  as  it  will  be  a  profitable  specula- 
tion for  her  to  receive  the  land  in  an  improved  condi- 
tion, having  long  drawn  a  heavy  rate  of  interest  from 
it.  Thus,  Severe  risks  nothing  in  setting  us  free,  and 
assures  the  payment  of  her  notes." 

"  I  shall  do  as  you  say,"  said  Mariette  ;  "  and  if  I 
fail,  you  may  think  as  ill  of  me  as  you  choose." 

''  Then,  good  luck,  Mariette,  and  a  pleasant  walk 
to  you,"  said  Francois,  stepping  out  of  her  way. 

Little  Mariette  started  off  to  Dollins,  well  pleased 
to  have  such  a  fine  excuse  for  going  there,  for  staying 
a  long  time,  and  for  returning  often  during  the  next 
few  days.  Severe  pretended  to  like  what  she  heard, 
but  she  really  determined  to  be  in  no  haste.  She  had 
always  hated  Madeleine  Blanchet,  because  of  the  in- 
voluntary respect  her  husband  had  felt  for  her.  She 
thought  she  held  her  safely  in  her  claws  for  the  whole 
of  her  lifetime,  and  preferred  to  give  up  the  notes, 
which  she  knew  to  be  of  no  great  value,  rather  than 
renounce  the  pleasure  of  harassing  her  with  the  bur- 
den of  an  endless  debt. 

Francois  understood  all  this  perfectly,  and  was 
anxious  to  induce  her  to  exact  the  payment  of  this 
debt,  so  that  he  might  have  an  opportunity  to  buy 


FRANCOIS   THE   WAIF 

back  Jeannie's  broad  fields  from  those  who  had  pur- 
chased them  for  a  song.  When  Mariette  returned 
with  her  answer,  he  saw  that  they  were  trying  to 
mislead  him  with  words;  that,  on  one  hand,  the 
young  girl  was  glad  to  have  her  errands  last  for  a 
long  time  to  come,  and  that,  on  the  other  hand, 
Severe  had  not  reached  the  point  of  being  more  de- 
sirous for  Madeleine's  ruin  than  for  the  payment  of 
her  notes. 

To  clinch  matters,  he  took  Mariette  aside,  two 
days  afterward. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  said  he,  ''you  must  not 
go  to  Dollins  to-day.  Your  sister  has  learned,  though 
I  do  not  know  how,  that  you  go  there  more  than 
once  a  day,  and  she  says  it  is  no  place  for  a  respect- 
able girl.  I  have  tried  to  make  her  understand  that 
it  is  for  her  interest  that  you  are  so  friendly  with 
Severe ;  but  she  blamed  me  as  well  as  you.  She  says 
that  she  would  rather  be  ruined  than  have  you  lose 
your  reputation,  that  you  are  under  her  guardianship, 
and  that  she  has  authority  over  you.  If  you  do  not 
obey  of  your  own  free  will,  you  will  be  prevented 
from  going  by  main  force.  If  you  do  as  she  says, 
she  will  not  mention  this  to  you,  as  she  wishes  to 
avoid  giving  you  pain,  but  she  is  very  much  dis- 


FRANgOIS  THE   WAIF 

pleased  with  you,  and  it  would  be  well  for  you  to 
beg  her  pardon." 

Francois  had  no  sooner  unleashed  the  dog  than  it 
began  to  bark  and  bite.  He  was  correct  in  his  esti- 
mate of  little  Mariette's  temper,  which  was  as  hasty 
and  inflammable  as  her  brother's  had  been, 

''Indeed,  indeed!"  she  exclaimed;  "do  you  ex- 
pect me  to  obey  my  sister-in-law,  as  if  I  were  a 
child  of  three  ?  You  talk  as  if  she  were  my  mother, 
and  I  owed  her  submission!  What  makes  her  think 
that  I  may  lose  my  reputation  ?  Tell  her  that  it  is 
quite  as  well  buckled  on  as  her  own,  and  perhaps 
better.  Why  does  she  imagine  that  Severe  is  not 
so  good  as  other  people  ?  Is  it  wicked  not  to  spend 
the  whole  day  sewing,  spinning,  and  praying  ?  My 
sister-in-law  is  unjust  because  she  has  a  quarrel  with 
her  about  money,  and  she  thinks  she  can  treat  her 
;as  she  pleases.  It  is  very  imprudent  of  her,  for  if 
Severe  wished  she  coiild  turn  her  out  of  the  house 
-she  lives  in ;  and  as  Severe  is  patient,  and  does  not 
make  use  of  her  advantage,  she  is  certainly  better 
than  she  is  said  to  be.  And  this  is  the  way  in 
which  you  thank  me,  who  have  been  obliging 
enough  to  take  part  in  these  disputes,  which  are  no 
concern  of  mine  !     I  can  tell  you,  Francois,  that  the 

202 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

most  respectable  people  are  not  always  the  most 
prudish,  and  when  I  go  to  Severe's  I  do  no  more 
mischief  than  if  I  stayed  at  home." 

*'  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Francois,  who 
was  determined  to  make  all  the  scum  of  the  vat 
mount  to  the  surface;  ''perhaps  your  sister  was 
right  in  thinking  that  you  are  in  some  mischief 
there.  Look  here,  Mariette,  I  see  that  you  like  to 
go  there  too  well.  It  is  not  natural.  You  have  de- 
livered your  message  about  Madeleine's  affairs,  and 
since  Severe  has  sent  no  answer,  it  is  evident  that 
she  means  to  give  none.  Do  not  go  back  there  any 
more,  or  I  shall  think,  with  Madeleine,  that  you  go 
with  no  good  intention." 

**Then,  Master  Francois,"  cried  Mariette,  in  a 
fiiry,  ''you  think  you  are  going  to  dictate  to  me? 
Do  you  mean  to  take  my  brother's  place  at  home, 
and  make  yourself  master  there?  You  have  not 
enough  beard  on  your  chin  to  give  me  such  a  lec- 
ture, and  I  advise  you  to  leave  me  alone.  Your 
humble  servant,"  she  added,  adjusting  her  coif;  "  if 
my  sister-in-law  asks  where  I  am,  tell  her  that  I  am 
at  Severe's,  and  if  she  sends  you  after  me,  you  will 
see  how  you  are  received." 

She  burst  the  door  open  violently,  and  flew  off 
203 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

with  a  light  foot  toward  Dollins ;  but  as  FrarKpois 
was  afraid  that  her  anger  would  cool  on  the  way, 
especially  as  the  weather  was  frosty,  he  allowed  her 
a  little  start.  He  waited  until  he  thought  she  had 
nearly  reached  Severe's  house,  and  then  putting  his 
long  legs  in  motion  he  ran  like  a  horse  let  loose,  and 
caught  up  with  her,  to  make  her  believe  that  Made- 
leine had  sent  him  in  pursuit  of  her. 

He  was  so  provoking  that  she  raised  her  hand 
against  him.  He  dodged  her  every  time,  being  well 
aware  that  anger  evaporates  with  blows,  and  that  a 
woman's  temper  improves  when  she  has  relieved 
herself  by  striking.  Then  he  ran  away,  and  as 
soon  as  Mariette  arrived  at  Severe's  house  she  made 
a  great  explosion.  The  poor  child  had  really  no 
bad  designs ;  but  in  the  first  flame  of  her  anger  she 
disclosed  everything,  and  put  Severe  into  such  a 
towering  passion  that  Francois,  who  was  retreating 
noiselessly  through  the  lane,  heard  them  at  the 
other  end  of  the  hemp-field,  hissing  and  crackling 
like  fire  in  a  barn  full  of  hay. 


204 


CHAPTER    XXII 

HIS  plan  succeeded  admirably,  and  he  was  so 
sure  of  it  that  he  went  over  to  Aigurande 
next  day,  took  his  money  from  the  priest,  and  re- 
turned at  night,  carrying  the  four  little  notes  of  thin 
paper,  which  were  of  such  great  value,  and  yet 
made  no  more  noise  in  his  pocket  than  a  crumb  of 
bread  in  a  cap.  After  a  week's  time,  Severe  made 
herself  heard.  All  the  purchasers  of  Blanchet's 
land  were  summoned  to  pay  up,  and  as  not  one 
was  able  to  do  it,  Severe  threatened  to  make  Made- 
leine pay  instead. 

Madeleine  was  much  alarmed  when  she  heard  the 
news,  for  she  had  received  no  hint  from  Francois  of 
what  was  coming. 

**  Good  ! "  said  he  to  her,  rubbing  his  hands;  "  a 

trader  cannot  always  gain,  nor  a  thief  always  rob. 

Madame  Severe  is  going  to  make  a  bad  bargain  and 

you  a  good  one.     All  the  same,  my  dear  mother, 

205 


FRANgOIS   THE  WAIF 

you  must  behave  as  if  you  thought  you  were  ru- 
ined. The  sadder  you  are,  the  gladder  she  will  be  ta 
do  what  she  thinks  is  to  your  harm.  But  that  harm» 
is  your  salvation,  for  when  you  pay  Severe  you  wilB 
buy  back  your  son's  inheritance." 

''What  do  you  expect  me  to  pay  her  with,  my 
child?" 

"With  the  money  I  have  in  my  pocket,  and* 
which  belongs  to  you." 

Madeleine  tried  to  dissuade  him;  but  the  waif  was 
headstrong,  as  he  said  himself,  and  no  one  could 
loose  what  he  had  bound.  He  hastened  to  deposit 
two  hundred  pistoles  with  the  notary,  in  the  widow 
Blanchet's  name,  and  Severe  was  paid  in  full,  will- 
ingly or  unwillingly,  and  also  all  the  other  creditors, 
of  the  estate,  who  had  made  common  cause  with-, 
her. 

Moreover,  after  Francois  had  indemnified  all  the 
poor  purchasers  of  the  land  for  their  losses,  he  had 
still  enough  money  with  which  to  go  to  law,  and 
he  let  Severe  know  that  he  was  about  to  embark  in. 
a  lawsuit  on  the  subject  of  the  promissory  notes, 
which  she  had  wrongfully  and  fraudulently  extracted, 
from  the  miller.  He  set  afloat  a  report  which  spread 
far  and  wide  through  the  land.  He  pretended  that 
206 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

in  fumbling  about  an  old  wall  of  the  mill  which  he 
was  trying  to  prop  up,  he  had  found  old  Mother 
Blanchet's  money-box,  filled  with  gold  coins  of  an 
ancient  stamp,  and  that  by  this  means  Madeleine 
was  richer  than  she  had  ever  been.  Weary  of  war- 
fare, Severe  consented  to  a  compromise,  hoping  also 
that  Franfois  would  be  lavish  of  the  crowns  which 
he  had  so  opportunely  discovered,  and  that  she 
could  wheedle  from  him  more  than  he  gave  her  to 
'expect.  She  got  nothing  for  her  pains,  however, 
and  he  was  so  hard  with  her  that  she  was  forced  to 
return  the  notes  in  exchange  for  a  hundred  crowns. 

To  revenge  herself,  she  worked  upon  little  Mari- 
ette,  telling  her  that  the  money-box  of  old  Mother 
Blanchet,  who  was  the  girl's  grandmother,  should 
have  been  divided  between  her  and  Jeannie,  that 
she  had  a  right  to  her  share,  and  should  go  to  law 
against  her  sister. 

Then  the  waif  was  forced  to  tell  the  true  source 
■of  the  money  he  had  provided,  and  the  priest  of 
Aigurande  sent  him  the  proofs,  in  case  of  there 
being  a  lawsuit. 

He  began  by  showing  these  proofs  to  Mariette, 
begging  her  to  make  no  unnecessary  disclosures, 
^nd  making  it  clear  to  her  that  she  had  better  keep 
207 


FRANgOIS  THE   WAIF 

quiet.  But  Mariette  would  not  keep  at  all  quiet; 
her  little  brain  was  excited  by  the  confusion  in  the 
family,  and  the  devil  tempted  the  poor  child.  In 
spite  of  all  the  kindness  she  had  received  from 
Madeleine,  who  had  treated  her  as  a  daughter  and 
indulged  all  her  whims,  she  felt  a  dislike  and  jeal- 
ousy of  her  sister-in-law,  although  her  pride  pre- 
vented her  from  acknowledging  it.  The  truth  is 
that  in  the  midst  of  her  tantrums  and  quarrels  with 
Francois,  she  had  inadvertently  fallen  in  love  with 
him,  and  never  suspected  the  trap  which  the  devil' 
had  set  for  her.  The  more  Francois  upbraided  her 
for  her  faults  and  vagaries,  the  more  crazy  she  was 
to  please  him. 

She  was  not  the  kind  of  girl  to  pine  and  consume 
away  in  grief  and  tears ;  but  it  robbed  her  of  her 
peace  to  think  that  Francois  was  so  handsome,  rich, 
and  upright,  so  kind  to  everybody,  and  so  clever  and 
brave;  that  he  was  a  man  to  shed  his  last  drop  of 
blood  for  the  woman  he  loved,  and  yet  that  none 
of  this  was  for  her,  although  she  was  the  prettiest 
and  richest  girl  in  the  neighborhood,  and  counted 
her  lovers  by  the  dozen. 

One  day  she  opened  her  heart  to  her  false  friend. 
Severe.  It  was  in  the  pasture  at  the  end  of  the  road 
208 


FRANCOIS  THE   WAIF 

of  the  water-lilies,  underneath  an  old  apple-tree  that 
was  then  in  blossom.  While  all  these  things  were 
happening,  the  month  of  May  had  come,  and  Severe 
strolled  out  under  the  apple-blossoms,  to  chat  with 
Mariette,  who  was  tending  her  flock  beside  the  river. 

It  pleased  God  that  Francois,  who  was  near  by, 
should  overhear  their  conversation.  He  had  seen 
Severe  enter  the  pasture,  and  at  once  suspected  her 
of  meditating  some  intrigue  against  Madeleine;  and 
as  the  river  was  low,  he  walked  noiselessly  along  the 
bank,  beneath  the  bushes  which  are  so  tall  just 
there  that  a  hay-cart  could  pass  under  their  shade. 
When  he  came  within  hearing  distance,  he  sat  down 
on  the  ground,  without  making  a  sound,  and  opened 
his  ears  very  wide. 

The  two  women  plied  their  tongues  busily.  In 
the  first  place,  Mariette  confessed  to  not  caring  for  a 
single  one  of  her  suitors,  for  the  sake  of  a  young 
miller,  who  was  not  at  all  courteous  to  her,  and  the 
thought  of  whom  kept  her  awake  at  night.  Severe, 
on  the  other  hand,  wanted  to  unite  her  to  a  young 
man  of  her  acquaintance,  who  was  so  much  in  love 
with  the  girl,  that  he  had  promised  a  handsome 
wedding -present  to  Severe,  if  she  succeeded  in 
marrying  him  to  Mariette  Blanchet.  It  appeared 
^4  209 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

also  that  Severe  had  exacted  a  gratuity  beforehand 
from  him  and  from  several  others;  so  she  naturally 
did  all  in  her  power  to  put  Mariette  out  of  conceit 
with  Fran9ois. 

**A  plague  take  the  waif!"  she  exclaimed. 
"What,  Mariette,  a  girl  in  your  position  marry  a 
foundling!  You  would  be  called  Madame  Straw- 
berry, for  he  has  no  other  name.  1  should  be 
ashamed  for  you,  my  poor  darling.  Then  you  have 
no  chance;  you  would  be  obliged  to  fight  for  him 
with  your  sister-in-law,  for  he  is  her  lover,  as  true 
as  I  live." 

''Severe,"  cried  Mariette,  ''you  have  hinted  this 
to  me  more  than  once;  but  I  cannot  believe  you; 
my  sister-in-law  is  too  old." 

"No,  no,  Mariette;  your  sister-in-law  is  not  old 
enough  to  do  without  this  sort  of  thing;  she  is  only 
thirty,  and  when  the  waif  was  but  a  boy,  your 
brother  discovered  that  he  was  too  familiar  with  his 
wife.  That  is  why  he  gave  him  a  sound  thrashing 
with  the  butt  of  his  whip,  and  turned  him  out  of 
doors." 

Franpois  felt  a  lively  desire  to  spring  out  of  the 
bushes  and  tell  Severe  that  she  lied;  but  he  re- 
strained himself,  and  sat  motionless. 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

Severe  continued  to  ring  the  changes  on  this  sub- 
ject, and  told  so  many  shocking  lies  that  Fran(;:ois's 
face  burned,  and  it  was  with  great  difficulty  that  he 
:kept  his  patience. 

"Then,"  said  Mariette,  "he  probably  means  to 
tnarry  her  now  that  she  is  a  widow;  he  has  already 
given  her  a  good  -part  of  his  fortune,  and  he  must 
"Wish  to  have  a  share  in  the  property  which  he  has 
bought  back." 

"Somebody  else  will  outbid  him,"  said  the  other; 
**  for  now  that  Madeleine  has  plundered  him,  she 
will  be  on  the  lookout  for  a  richer  suitor,  and  will 
be  sure  to  fmd  one.  She  must  take  a  husband  to 
manage  her  property,  but  while  she  is  trying  to  fmd 
him,  she  keeps  this  great  simpleton  with  her,  who 
serves  her  for  nothing,  and  amuses  her  solitude." 

"If  she  is  going  along  at  that  pace,"  said  Mari- 
ette, much  vexed,  "I  am  in  a  most  disreputable 
house,  in  which  I  run  too  many  dangers  !  Do  you 
consider,  my  dear  Severe,  that  I  am  very  ill-lodged, 
and  that  people  will  talk  against  me  ?  Indeed,  I  can- 
not stay  where  I  am ;  I  must  leave.  Oh  !  yes,  these 
pious  women  criticize  everybody  else,  because  they 
themselves  are  shameless  only  in  God's  sight !  I 
.should  like  to  hear  her  say  anything  against  you 

211 


FRANgOIS   THE  WAIF 

and  me  now  !  Very  well !  I  am  going  to  say  good- 
by  to  her,  and  I  am  coming  to  live  with  you;  if 
she  is  angry,  I  shall  answer  her;  if  she  tries  to  bring 
me  back  by  force,  to  live  with  her,  I  shall  go  to  law; 
and  I  shall  let  people  know  what  she  is — do  you 
hear?" 

**  A  better  remedy  for  you,  Mariette,  is  to  get  mar- 
ried as  soon  as  possible.  She  will  not  refuse  her  con- 
sent, because  I  am  sure  she  is  anxious  to  rid  herself 
of  you.  You  stand  in  the  way  of  her  relations  with 
the  handsome  waif.  You  must  not  delay,  cannot 
you  understand,  for  people  will  say  that  he  belongs  to 
both  of  you,  and  then  nobody  will  marry  you.  Go 
and  get  married,  then,  and  take  the  man  I  advise." 

"Agreed,"  said  Mariette,  breaking  her  shepherd's 
crook  violently,  against  the  old  apple-tree.  "  I  give 
you  my  word.  Go  and  tell  him.  Severe;  let  him 
come  to  my  house  this  evening,  to  ask  for  my  hand, 
and  let  our  banns  be  published  next  Sunday," 


212 


CHAPTER     XXIII 

FRANCOIS  was  never  sadder  than  when  he 
emerged  from  the  river-bank  where  he  had  hid- 
den himself  to  listen  to  the  women's  talk.  His  heart 
was  as  heavy  as  lead,  and  when  he  had  gone  half- 
way home  he  lost  courage  to  return,  and,  stepping 
aside  into  the  path  of  the  water-lilies,  he  sat  down 
in  the  little  grove  of  oaks,  at  the  end  of  the  meadow. 

Once  there,  by  himself,  he  wept  like  a  child,  and 
his  heart  was  bursting  with  sorrow  and  shame;  for 
he  was  ashamed  to  hear  of  what  he  was  accused, 
and  to  think  that  his  poor  dear  friend  Madeleine, 
whom,  through  all  his  life,  he  had  loved  so  purely 
and  constantly,  reaped  nothing  but  insult  and  slan- 
der from  his  devotion  and  fidelity. 

*'  Oh  !  my  God,  my  God  !  "  said  he  to  himself, 
**  how  can  it  be  that  the  world  is  so  wicked  and  that 
a  woman  like  Severe  can  have  the  insolence  to  mea- 
sure the  honor  of  a  woman  like  my  dear  mother,  by 
14*  213 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

her  own  standard  ?  And  that  little  Mariette,  who 
should  naturally  be  inclined  to  innocence  and  truth, 
a  child  as  she  is,  who  does  not  as  yet  know  the 
meaning  of  evil,  even  she  listens  to  this  infernal 
calumny,  and  believes  in  it,  as  if  she  knew  how  it 
stung  !  Since  this  is  so,  others  will  believe  it  too; 
as  the  larger  part  of  people  living  mortal  life  are  old 
in  evil,  almost  everybody  will  think  that  because  I 
love  Madame  Blanchet,  and  she  loves  me,  there  must 
be  something  dishonorable  in  it." 

Then  poor  Francois  undertook  a  careful  examina- 
tion of  his  conscience,  and  searched  his  memory  to 
see  whether,  by  any  fault  of  his,  he  were  responsible 
for  Severe's  wicked  gossip ;  whether  he  had  behaved 
wisely  in  all  respects,  or  whether,  by  a  lack  of  pru- 
dence and  discretion,  he  had  involuntarily  given  rise 
to  evil  thinking.  But  it  was  in  vain  that  he  reflected, 
for  he  could  not  believe  that  he  had  appeared  guilty 
of  what  had  never  even  crossed  his  mind. 

Still  absorbed  in  thought  and  reverie,  he  went  on 
saying  to  himself: 

''Suppose  that  my  liking  had  turned  to  loving, 

what  harm  would  it  be  in  God's  sight,  now  that  she 

is  a  widow  and  her  own  mistress?     I  have  given  a 

good  part  of  my  fortune  to  her  and  Jeannie,  but  I 

214 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

still  have  a  considerable  share  left,  and  she  would  not 
wrong  her  child  if  she  married  me.  It  would  not  be 
self-seeking  on  my  part  to  desire  this,  and  nobody 
could  make  her  believe  that  my  love  for  her  is  self- 
interested.  I  am  a  foundling,  but  she  does  not  care 
for  that.  She  has  loved  me  with  a  mother's  love, 
which  is  the  strongest  of  all  affections,  and  now  she 
might  love  me  in  another  way.  I  see  that  her  enemies 
will  force  me  to  leave  her  if  I  do  not  marry  her,  and 
I  should  rather  die  than  leave  her  a  second  time.  Be- 
sides, she  needs  my  help,  and  I  should  be  a  coward  to 
leave  her  affairs  in  such  disorder  when  I  have  strength 
as  well  as  money  with  which  to  serve  her.  Yes,  all 
I  have  should  belong  to  her,  and  as  she  often  talks  to 
me  about  paying  me  back  in  the  end,  I  must  put  that 
idea  out  of  her  head,  by  sharing  all  things  in  com- 
mon with  her,  in  accordance  with  the  permission  of 
God  and  the  law.  She  must  keep  her  good  name  for 
her  son's  sake,  and  she  can  save  it  only  by  marrying 
me.  How  is  it  that  I  never  thought  of  this  before, 
and  that  I  needed  to  hear  it  suggested  by  a  serpent's 
tongue?  I  was  too  simple-minded  and  unsuspect- 
ing; and  my  poor  mother  is  too  charitable  to  others 
to  take  to  heart  the  injuries  which  are  done  her. 
Everything  tends  toward  good,  by  the  will  of 
215 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

Heaven;  and  Madame  Severe,  who  was  plotting 
mischief,  has  done  me  the  service  of  teaching  me 
my  duty." 

Without  indulging  any  longer  in  meditation  or 
wonder,  Francois  set  off  on  his  way  home,  deter- 
mined to  speak  of  his  plan  to  Madame  Blanchet 
without  loss  of  time,  and  on  his  knees  to  entreat  her 
to  accept  him  as  her  protector,  in  the  name  of  God, 
and  for  eternal  life. 

When  he  reached  Cormouer,  he  saw  Madeleine 
spinning  on  her  doorstep,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  her  face  had  the  effect  of  making  him  timid  and 
confused.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  walking  straight 
up  to  her,  looking  her  full  in  the  face  to  ask  her 
how  she  did;  but  this  time  he  paused  on  the  little 
bridge  as  if  he  were  examining  the  mill-dam,  and 
only  looked  at  her  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes. 

When  she  turned  toward  him,  he  moved  farther 
away,  not  understanding  himself  what  his  trouble 
was,  or  why  a  matter  which,  a  few  minutes  ago,  had 
seemed  to  him  so  natural  and  opportune,  should  sud- 
denly become  so  awkward  to  confess. 

Madeleine  called  him. 

"  Come  here  to  me,"  said  she,  "for  I  have  some- 
thing to  say  to  you,  dear  Francois.  We  are  alone, 
216 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

so  come  and  sit  down  beside  me,  and  open  your 
heart  to  me,  as  if  I  were  your  father-confessor,  for  I 
want  to  hear  the  truth  from  you." 

Francois  was  reassured  by  Madeleine's  words,  and 
he  sat  down  beside  her. 

"  I  promise,  my  dear  mother,"  said  he,  "to  open 
my  heart  to  you  as  I  do  to  God,  and  to  give  you  a 
true  confession." 

He  fancied  that  something  had  come  to  her  ears 
which  had  brought  her  to  the  same  conclusion  as 
himself ;  he  was  delighted,  and  waited  to  hear  what 
she  had  to  say. 

**  Francois,"  she  went  on,  "you  are  in  your 
twenty-first  year,  and  it  is  time  for  you  to  think 
of  marrying;  you  are  not  opposed  to  it,  I  hope?" 

"No,  I  am  not  opposed  to  anything  you  wish," 
answered  Francois,  blushing  with  pleasure;  "go  on, 
my  dear  Madeleine." 

"  Good!  "  said  she.  "  I  expected  this,  and  I  have 
guessed  the  right  thing.  Since  you  wish  it,  I  wish 
it  too,  and  perhaps  I  thought  of  it  before  you  did. 
\  was  waiting  to  see  whether  the  person  in  question 
cared  for  you,  and  I  think  that  if  she  does  not  as 
yet,  she  will,  very  soon.  Don't  you  think  so,  too, 
and  shall  I  tell  you  where  you  stand?  Why  do 
217 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

you  look  at  me  with  such  a  puzzled  expression? 
Don't  I  speak  clearly  enough  ?  I  see  that  you  are 
shy  about  it,  and  I  must  help  you  out.  Well,  the 
poor  child  pouted  all  the  morning  because  you 
teased  her  a  little  yesterday,  and  I  dare  say  she 
thinks  you  do  not  love  her.  But  I  know  that  you 
do  love  her,  and  if  you  scold  her  sometimes  for  her 
little  caprices  it  is  because  you  are  a  trifle  jealous. 
You  must  not  hold  back  for  that^  Francois.  She  is 
young  and  pretty;  but  though  there  is  some  danger 
in  this,  if  she  truly  loves  you  she  will  willingly  sub- 
mit herself  to  you." 

"I  should  like,"  said  Francois,  much  disappointed, 
*'to  know  whom  you  are  talking  of,  my  dear 
mother,  for  I  am  wholly  at  a  loss." 

"Really!"  said  Madeleine;  ''don't  you  know 
what  I  mean?  Am  I  dreaming,  or  are  you  trying 
to  keep  a  secret  from  me  ?  " 

*'  A  secret  from  you!  "  said  Franpois,  taking  Made- 
leine's hand.  He  soon  dropped  it,  and  took  up  in- 
stead the  corner  of  her  apron,  which  he  crumpled  as 
if  he  were  provoked,  then  lifted  toward  his  lips  as 
if  about  to  kiss  it,  and  finally  let  go  just  as  he  had 
done  with  her  hand.  He  was  first  inclined  to  cry; 
then  he  felt  angry,  and  then  giddy,  all  in  succession. 
218 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

Madeleine  was  amazed. 

*'  You  are  in  trouble,  my  child,"  she  cried,  "  and 
this  means  that  you  are  in  love — that  all  does  not 
go  as  you  wish.  I  can  assure  you  that  Mariette  has 
a  good  heart;  she,  too,  is  distressed,  and  if  you 
speak  openly  with  her  she  will  tell  you,  in  return, 
that  she  thinks  of  no  one  but  you." 

Francois  sprang  up,  and  walked  up  and  down 
the  courtyard  for  some  time  in  silence  ;  then  he 
returned  to  Madeleine's  side. 

"  I  am  very  much  surprised  to  hear  what  you 
have  in  your  mind,  Madame  Blanchet;  this  never 
once  occurred  to  me,  and  I  am  well  aware  that 
Mariette  has  no  liking  for  me,  and  that  I  am  not  to 
her  taste." 

'*0h,  come!"  said  Madeleine;  ''you  are  speaking 
petulantly,  my  child!  Don't  you  think  I  noticed 
how  often  you  talked  with  her?  Though  I  could 
not  catch  the  meaning  of  what  you  said,  it  was 
evident  that  she  understood  very  well,  for  her  face 
glowed  like  a  burning  coal.  Do  you  think  I  do  not 
know  that  she  runs  away  from  the  pasture  every 
day,  leaving  her  flock  in  charge  of  the  first  person 
she  meets?  Her  sheep  flourish  at  the  expense  of 
our  wheat;  but  I  do  not  want  to  cross  her,  or  talk 
219 


FRANgOIS  THE   WAIF 

to  her  of  sheep,  when  her  head  is  full  of  nothing 
but  love  and  marriage.  The  poor  child  is  just  of 
an  age  to  guard  her  sheep  ill,  and  her  heart  still 
worse.  But  it  is  great  good  luck  for  her,  Francois, 
that  instead  of  falling  in  love  with  one  of  those  bad 
fellows  whom  I  was  so  much  afraid  of  her  meeting 
at  Severe's,  she  had  the  good  sense  to  think  of  you. 
It  makes  me,  too,  very  happy  to  think  that,  when 
you  are  married  to  my  sister-in-law,  who  is  almost 
the  same  as  a  daughter  to  me,  you  will  live  with 
me  and  make  part  of  my  family,  and  that  I  may 
harbor  you  in  my  house,  work  with  you,  bring  up 
your  children,  and  thus  repay  your  kindness  to  me. 
So,  do  not  let  your  childish  notions  interfere  with 
all  the  joys  I  have  planned.  Try  to  see  clearly, 
and  forget  your  jealousy.  If  Mariette  is  fond  of 
dress,  it  is  because  she  is  anxious  to  please  you.  If 
she  has  been  rather  idle  lately,  it  is  only  because 
she  is  thinking  too  much  of  you;  and  if  she  answers 
me  sometimes  rather  sharply,  she  does  so  because 
she  is  vexed  with  your  reprimands,  and  does  not 
know  whom  to  blame  for  them.  The  proof  that 
she  is  good  and  desirous  of  mending  her  ways,  is 
that  she  has  recognized  your  goodness  and  wisdom, 
and  wants  you  for  her  husband." 

220 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

*'  You  are  good,  my  dear  mother,"  said  FrarK^^ois, 
quite  crestfallen.  ''Yes,  it  is  you  who  are  good, 
for  you  believe  in  the  goodness  of  others  and  de- 
ceive yourself.  I  can  tell  you  that,  if  Mariette  is 
good,  too,  and  I  will  not  say  she  is  not,  lest  I  should 
injure  her  in  your  opinion,  it  is  in  a  way  very  dif- 
ferent from  yours,  and,  consequently,  very  displeasing 
to  me.  Do  not  say  anything  more  to  me  about  her. 
I  swear  to  you  on  my  word  and  honor,  on  my  heart 
and  soul,  that  I  am  no  more  in  love  with  her  than 
I  am  with  old  Catherine,  and  if  she  has  any  regard 
for  me,  it  is  her  own  misfortune,  because  I  cannot 
return  it.  Do  not  try  to  make  her  say  she  loves  me; 
your  tact  would  be  at  fault,  and  you  would  make 
her  my  enemy.  It  is  quite  the  contrary;  hear  what 
she  will  say  to  you  to-night,  and  let  her  marry  Jean 
Aubard,  whom  she  has  made  up  her  mind  to  accept. 
Let  her  marry  as  soon  as  possible,  for  she  is  out  of 
place  in  your  house.  She  is  not  happy  there,  and 
will  not  be  a  source  of  comfort  to  you." 

''Jean  Aubard  !  "  exclaimed  Madeleine;  "  he  is  not 
a  proper  person  for  her;  he  is  a  fool,  and  she  is  too 
clever  to  submit  herself  to  a  stupid  man." 

"  He  is  rich,  and  she  will  not  submit  to  him.  She 
will  manage  him,  and  he  is  just  the  man  for  her. 

221 


FRANgOlS  THE   WAIF 

Will  you  not  trust  in  your  friend,  my  dear  mother? 
You  know  that,  up  to  this  time,  I  have  never  given 
you  any  bad  advice.  Let  the  young  girl  go ;  she 
does  not  love  you  as  she  ought,  and  she  does  not 
know  your  worth." 

"You  say  this  because  your  feelings  are  hurt, 
Francois,"  said  Madeleine,  laying  her  hand  on  his 
head  and  moving  it  gently  up  and  down,  as  if  she 
were  trying  to  shake  the  truth  out  of  it.  Francois 
was  exasperated  that  she  would  not  believe  him, 
and  it  was  the  first  time  in  his  life  that  there  had 
been  any  dispute  between  them.  He  withdrew,  say- 
ing in  a  dissatisfied  tone  of  voice : 

"Madame  Blanchet,  you  are  not  just  to  me.  I 
tell  you  that  girl  does  not  love  you.  You  force  me 
to  say  this,  against  my  will;  for  I  did  not  come  here 
tb  bring  distrust  and  strife.  So,  if  I  tell  it  to  you, 
you  may  know  that  I  am  sure  of  it;  and  do  you 
think  I  can  love  her  after  that?  You  cannot  love  rne 
any  more,  if  you  will  not  believe  me." 

Wild  with  grief,  Fran$:ois  rushed  off  to  weep  all 
alone  by  the  fountain. 


CHAPTER      XXIV 

MADELEINE  was  still  more  perplexed  than  Fran- 
cois, and  was  on  the  point  of  following  him 
with  questions  and  words  of  encouragement;  but 
she  was  held  back  by  the  sudden  appearance  of 
Mariette,  who,  with  a  strange  expression  on  her  face, 
announced  the  offer  of  marriage  she  had  received 
from  Jean  Aubard.  Madeleine,  who  was  unable  to 
disabuse  herself  of  the  idea  that  the  whole  affair  was 
the  result  of  a  lovers'  quarrel,  attempted  to  speak  to 
the  girl  of  Francois;  but  Mariette  answered  in  a  tone 
which  gave  her  great  pain,  and  was  utterly  incom- 
prehensible to  her: 

*'  Those  people  who  care  for  foundlings  may  keep 
them  for  their  own  amusement;  I  am  an  honest  girl, 
and  shall  not  allow  my  good  name  to  suffer  because 
my  poor  brother  is  dead.  I  am  perfectly  indepen- 
dent, Madeleine;  and  if  I  am  forced  by  law  to  ask 
your  advice,  I  am  not  forced  to  take  it  when  it  is  not 
223 


FRANgOlS  THE  WAIF 

for  my  good.  So  please  do  not  stand  in  my  way,  or 
I  may  stand  in  yours  hereafter." 

"  I  cannot  imagine  what  is  the  matter  with  you, 
my  dear  child,"  said  Madeleine,  very  sweetly  and 
sadly.  '*  You  speak  to  me  as  if  you  had  neither  re- 
spect nor  affection  for  me.  I  think  you  must  be  in 
some  distress  which  has  confused  your  mind;  so  I 
entreat  you  to  take  three  or  four  days,  in  which  to 
decide.  I  shall  tell  Jean  Aubard  to  come  back,  and 
if  you  are  of  the  same  opinion  after  a  little  quiet  re- 
flection, I  shall  give  you  free  leave  to  marry  him,  as 
he  is  a  respectable  man,  and  comfortably  off.  But 
you  are  in  such  an  excited  condition,  just  now,  that 
you  cannot  know  your  own  mind,  and  you  shut 
your  heart  against  my  affection.  You  grieve  me  very 
much,  but  as  I  see  that  you  are  grieved  too,  I  for- 
give you." 

Mariette  tossed  her  head,  to  show  how  much  she 
despised  that  sort  of  forgiveness,  and  ran  away  to 
put  on  her  silk  apron  and  prepare  for  the  reception  of 
Jean  Aubard,  who  arrived,  an  hour  later,  with  big 
Severe  in  gala  dress. 

This  time,  at  last,  Madeleine  was  convinced  of 
Mariette's  ill-will  toward  her,  since  the  girl  had 
brought  into  her  house,  on  a  family  matter,  a  woman 
224 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

who  was  her  enemy,  and  whom  she  blushed  to  see. 
Notwithstanding  this,  she  advanced  very  politely  to 
meet  Severe,  and  served  her  with  refreshments,  with- 
out any  appearance  of  anger  or  dislike;  for  she  feared 
that  if  Mariette  were  opposed,  she  would  prove  un- 
manageable. So  Madeleine  said  that  she  made  no 
objection  to  her  sister-in-law's  desire,  but  requested 
three  days'  grace  before  giving  her  answer. 

Thereupon  Severe  said,  insolently,  that  was  a  very 
long  time  to  wait.  Madeleine  answered  quietly  that 
it  was  a  very  short  time. 

Jean  Aubard  then  left,  looking  like  a  blockhead, 
and  giggling  like  a  booby,  for  he  was  sure  that  Mar- 
iette was  madly  in  love  with  him.  He  had  paid  well 
for  this  illusion,  and  Severe  gave  him  his  money's 
worth. 

As  Severe  left  the  house,  she  said  to  Mariette  that 
she  had  ordered  a  cake  and  some  sweets  at  home  for 
the  betrothal,  and  even  if  Madame  Blanchet  delayed 
the  preliminaries,  they  must  sit  down  to  the  feast. 
Madeleine  objected  that  it  was  not  proper  for  a  young 
girl  to  go  off  in  the  company  of  a  man  who  had  not 
as  yet  received  his  answer  from  her  family. 

"  If  that  is  so,  I  shall  not  go,"  said  Mariette.  in  a 
huff. 

»5  225 


FRANCOIS   THE   WAIF 

*'0h,  yes,  yes;  you  must  come,"  Severe  insisted; 
*'  are  not  you  your  own  mistress  ?  " 

^*  No,  indeed,"  returned  Mariette;  "you  see  my  sis- 
ter-in-law forbids  me  to  go." 

She  went  into  her  room  and  slammed  the  door; 
but  she  merely  passed  through  the  house,  went  out 
by  the  back  door,  and  caught  up  with  Severe  and 
her  suitor  at  the  end  of  the  meadow,  laughing  and 
jeering  at  Madeleine's  expense. 

Poor  Madeleine  could  not  restrain  her  tears  when 
she  saw  how  things  were  going. 

"  Francois  was  right,"  thought  she;  ''  the  girl  does 
not  love  me,  and  she  is  ungrateful  at  heart.  She 
will  not  believe  that  I  am  acting  for  her  good,  that  I 
am  most  anxious  for  her  happiness,  and  wish  only  to 
prevent  her  doing  something  which  she  will  regret 
hereafter.  She  has  taken  evil  counsel,  and  I  am  con- 
demned to  see  that  wretched  Severe  stirring  up  trou- 
ble and  strife  in  my  family.  I  have  not  deserved  all 
these  troubles,  and  I  must  submit  to  God's  will. 
Fortunately,  poor  Francois  was  more  clear-sighted 
than  I.  How.  much  he  would  suffer  with  such  a 
wife ! " 

She  went  to  look  for  him,  to  let  him  know  what 
she  thought;  but  when  she  found  him  in  tears  be- 
226 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

side  the  fountain,  she  supposed  he  was  grieving  for 
the  loss  of  Mariette,  and  attempted  to  comfort  him. 
The  more  she  said  the  more  pained  he  was,  for  it  be- 
came clear  to  him  that  she  refused  to  understand  the 
truth,  and  that  her  heart  could  never  feel  for  him  in 
the  way  he  had  hoped. 

In  the  evening,  when  Jeannie  was  in  bed  and 
asleep^  Francois  sat  with  Madeleine,  and  sought  to 
explain  himself. 

He  began  by  saying  that  Mariette  was  jealous  of 
her,  and  that  Severe  had  slandered  her  infamously; 
but  Madeleine  never  dreamed  of  his  meaning. 

*' What  can  she  say  against  me?  "  said  she,  sim- 
ply; '*  and  what  jealousy  can  she  put  into  poor  silly 
little  Mariette's  head?  You  are  mistaken,  Franpois; 
something  else  is  at  stake,  some  interested  reason 
which  we  shall  hear  later.  It  is  not  possible  that 
she  should  be  jealous;  I  am  too  old  to  give  any 
anxiety  to  a  young  and  pretty  girl.  I  am  almost 
thirty,  and  for  a  peasant  woman  who  has  under- 
gone a  great  deal  of  trouble  and  fatigue,  that  is  old 
enough  to  be  your  mother.  The  devil  only  could 
say  that  I  think  of  you  in  any  way  but  as  my  son, 
and  Mariette  must  know  I  longed  to  have  you  both 
marry.  No,  no;  never  believe  that  she  has  any 
227 


FRANCOIS  THE  WAIF 

such  evil  thought,  or,  at  least,  do  not  mention  it  to 
me,  for  I  should  be  too  much  pained  and  mortified." 

''  And  yet,"  said  Francois,  making  a  great  effort 
to  speak,  and  bending  low  over  the  fire  to  hide  his 
confusion  from  Madeleine,  "  Monsieur  Blanchet  had 
some  such  evil  thought  when  he  turned  me  out  of 
doors!" 

"What!  Do  you  know  that  now,  Francois?" 
exclaimed  Madeleine.  "  How  is  it  that  you  know 
it  ?  I  never  told  you,  and  I  never  should  have  told 
you.  If  Catherine  spoke  of  it  to  you,  she  did 
wrong.  Such  an  idea  must  shock  and  pain  you  as 
much  as  it  does  me,  but  we  must  try  not  to  think 
of  it  any  more  and  to  forgive  my  husband,  now 
that  he  is  dead.  All  the  obloquy  of  it  falls  upon 
Severe;  but  now  Severe  can  be  no  longer  jealous  of 
me.  I  have  no  husband,  and  I  am  as  old  and  ugly 
as  she  could  ever  have  wished,  though  I  am  not  in 
the  least  sorry  for  it,  for  I  have  gained  the  right  of 
being  respected,  of  treating  you  as  a  son,  and  of 
finding  you  a  pretty  young  wife,  who  will  live  hap- 
pily with  me  and  love  me  as  a  mother.  This  is  my 
only  wish,  Franpois,  and  you  must  not  distress 
yourself,  for  we  shall  find  her.  So  much  the  worse 
for  Mariette  if  she  despises  the  happiness  I  had  in 
228 


FRANgOlS  THE   WAIF 

store  for  her.  Now,  go  to  bed,  my  child,  and  take 
courage.  If  I  thought  I  were  any  obstacle  to  your 
marrying,  I  should  send  you  away  at  once;  but  you 
may  be  sure  that  nobody  worries  about  me,  or 
imagines  what  is  absolutely  impossible." 

As  Fran(;:ois  listened  to  Madeleine^  he  was  con- 
vinced that  she  was  right,  so  accustomed  was  he 
to  believe  all  that  she  said.  He  rose  to  bid  her 
good  night,  but,  as  he  took  her  hand,  it  happened 
that,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  looked  at  her 
with  the  intention  of  finding  out  whether  she  were 
old  and  ugly;  and  the  truth  is,  she  had  long  been 
so  sad  and  serious  that  she  deceived  herself,  and 
was  still  as  pretty  a  woman  as  she  had  ever  been. 

So  when  Francois  saw  all  at  once  that  she  was 
still  young  and  as  beautiful  as  the  blessed  Virgin, 
his  heart  gave  a  great  bound,  as  if  he  had  climbed 
to  the  pinnacle  of  a  tower.  He  went  back  for  the 
night  to  the  mill,  where  his  bed  was  neatly  spread 
in  a  square  of  boards  among  the  sacks  of  flour.. 
Once  there,  and  by  himself,  he  shivered  and  gasped 
as  if  he  had  a  fever;  but  it  was  only  the  fever  of 
love,  for  he  who  had  all  his  life  warmed  himself 
comfortably  in  front  of  the  ashes,  had  suddenly 
been  scorched  by  a  great  burst  of  flame. 
^5*  229 


CHAPTER     XXV 


FROM  that  time  on,  the  waif  was  so  melancholy 
that  it  made  one's  heart  ache  to  see  him.  He 
worked  like  a  horse,  but  he  found  no  more  joy  or 
peace,  and  Madeleine  could  not  induce  him  to  say 
what  was  the  matter  with  him.  It  was  in  vain  he 
swore  that  he  neither  loved  nor  regretted  Mariette, 
for  Madeleine  would  not  believe  him,  and  could  assign 
no  other  cause  for  his  depression.  She  was  grieved 
that  he  should  be  in  distress  and  yet  no  longer  con- 
fide in  her,  and  she  was  amazed  that  his  trouble 
should  make  him  so  proud  and  self-willed. 

As  it  was  not  in  her  nature  to  be  tormenting,  she 
made  up  her  mind  to  say  nothing  further  to  him  on 
the  subject.  She  attempted  to  make  Mariette  reverse 
her  decision,  but  her  overtures  were  so  ill-received 
that  she  lost  courage,  and  was  silent.  Though  her 
heart  was  full  of  anguish,  she  kept  it  to  herself,  lest 
she  should  add  to  the  burden  of  others. 
230 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

Francois  worked  for  her,  and  served  her  with  the 
same  zeal  and  devotion  as  before.  As  in  the  old 
time,  he  stayed  as  much  as  possible  in  her  company, 
but  he  no  longer  spoke  as  he  used.  He  was  always 
embarrassed  with  her,  and  turned  first  red  as  fire, 
and  then  white  as  a  sheet  in  the  same  minute.  She 
was  afraid  he  was  ill,  and  once  took  his  hand  to  see 
if  he  were  feverish;  but  he  drew  back  from  her  as  if 
her  touch  hurt  him,  and  sometimes  he  reproached 
her  in  words  which  she  could  not  understand. 

The  trouble  between  them  grew  from  day  to  day. 
During  all  this  time,  great  preparations  were  being 
made  for  Mariette's  marriage  to  Jean  Aubard,  and  the 
day  which  was  to  end  her  mourning  was  fixed  as 
that  of  the  wedding. 

Madeleine  looked  forward  to  that  day  with  dread; 
she  feared  that  Francois  would  go  crazy,  and  was 
anxious  to  send  him  to  spend  a  little  time  at  Aigu- 
rande,  with  his  old  master  Jean  Vertaud,  so  as  to  dis- 
tract his  mind.  Francois,  however,  was  unwilling 
to  let  Mariette  believe  what  Madeleine  insisted  upon 
thinking.  He  showed  no  vexation  before  her,  was 
on  friendly  relations  with  her  lover,  and  jested  with 
Severe,  when  he  met  her  along  the  road,  to  let  her 
see  that  he  had  nothing  to  fear  from  her.  He  was 
231 


FRANCOIS  THE   WAIF 

present  at  the  wedding;  and  as  he  was  really  de- 
lighted to  have  the  house  rid  of  the  girl,  and  Made- 
leine freed  from  her  false  friendship,  it  never  crossed 
anybody's  mind  that  he  had  been  in  love  with  her. 
The  truth  began  to  dawn  even  on  Madeleine,  or  at 
least  she  was  inclined  to  believe  that  he  had  consoled 
himself.  She  received  Mariette's  farewell  with  her 
accustomed  warmth  of  heart ;  but  as  the  young  girl 
still  cherished  a  grudge  against  her  on  account  of  the 
waif,  Madeleine  could  not  help  seeing  that  her  sister- 
in-law  left  her  without  love  or  regret.  Inured  as  she 
was  to  sorrow,  Madeleine  wept  over  the  girl's  hard- 
ness of  heart,  and  prayed  God  to  forgive  her. 

After  a  week  had  passed,  Franfois  unexpectedly 
told  her  that  he  had  some  business  at  Aigurande 
that  would  call  him  there  for  the  space  of  five  or 
six  days.  She  was  not  surprised,  and  hoped  it  would 
be  for  the  good  of  his  health,  for  she  believed  that  he 
had  stifled  his  grief,  and  was  ill  in  consequence. 

But  that  grief,  which  she  thought  he  had  over- 
come, increased  with  him  day  by  day.  He  could 
think  of  nothing  else,  and  whether  asleep  or  awake, 
far  or  near,  Madeleine  was  always  in  his  heart  and 
before  his  eyes.  It  is  true  that  all  his  life  had  been 
spent  in  loving  her  and  thinking  of  her,  but  until 
232 


FRANCOIS   THE   WAIF 

lately  these  thoughts  of  her  had  been  his  happiness 
and  consolation,  whereas  they  were  now  his  despair 
and  his  undoing.  As  long  as  he  was  content  to  be  her 
son  and  friend,  he  wished  for  no  better  lot  op  earth ; 
but  now  his  love  had  changed  its  character,  and  he 
was  exquisitely  unhappy.  He  fancied  that  she  could 
never  change  as  he  had  done.  He  kept  repeating  to 
himself  that  he  was  too  young,  that  she  had  known 
him  as  a  forlorn  and  wretched  child,  that  he  could  be 
only  an  object  of  care  and  compassion  to  her,  and 
never  of  pride.  In  short,  he  believed  her  to  be  so 
lovely  and  so  attractive,  so  far  above  him,  and  so 
much  to  be  desired,  that  when  she  said  she  was  no 
longer  young  and  pretty,  he  thought  she  was  adopt- 
ing a  role  to  scare  away  her  suitors. 

In  the  mean  time,  Severe,  Mariette,  and  their  clan 
were  slandering  her  openly  on  his  account,  and  he 
was  in  terror  lest  some  of  the  scandal  should  come 
to  her  ears,  and  she  should  be  displeased  and  long 
for  his  departure.  He  knew  she  was  too  kind  to  ask 
him  to  go,  but  he  dreaded  being  again  a  cause  of 
annoyance  to  her,  as  he  had  been  once  before,  and 
it  occurred  to  him  to  go  to  ask  the  advice  of  the 
priest  of  Aigurande,  whom  he  had  found  to  be  a 
just  and  God-fearing  man. 
233 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

He  went,  but  with  no  success,  as  the  priest  was 
absent  on  a  visit  to  his  bishop ;  so  Francois  returned 
to  the  mill  of  Jean  Vertaud,  who  had  invited  him 
for  a  few  days'  visit,  while  waiting  for  the  priest's 
return. 

He  found  his  kind  master  as  true  a  man  and  as 
faithful  a  friend  as  he  had  left  him,  and  his  good 
daughter  Jeannette  on  the  brink  of  marriage  with  a 
very  respectable  man  whom  she  had  accepted  from 
motives  of  prudence  rather  than  of  enthusiasm,  but 
for  whom  she  fortunately  felt  more  liking  than  dis- 
taste. This  put  Francois  more  at  his  ease  with  her 
than  he  had  ever  been,  and  the  next  day  being  Sun- 
day, he  had  a  long  talk  with  her,  and  confided  in 
her  Madame  Blanchet's  many  difficulties,  and  his 
satisfaction  in  rescuing  her  from  them. 

Jeannette  was  quick-witted,  and  from  one  thing 
and  another  she  guessed  that  the  waif  was  more 
agitated  by  his  attachment  to  Madeleine  than  he 
would  confess.  She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and 
said  to  him  abruptly: 

*'  Francois,  you  must  hide  nothing  from  me.     I 

have  come  to  my  senses  now,  and  you  see  that  I 

am  not  ashamed  to  tell  you  that  I  once  thought 

more  of  you  than  you  did  of  me.     You  knew  my 

234 


FRANCOIS   THE  WAIF 

feelings,  and  you  could  not  return  them,  but  you 
would  not  deceive  me,  and  no  selfish  interest  led 
you  to  do  what  many  others  would  have  done  in 
your  place.  I  respect  you  both  for  your  behavior 
toward  me  and  for  your  constancy  to  the  woman 
you  loved  best  in  the  world;  and  instead  of  disown- 
ing my  regard  for  you,  I  am  glad  to  remember  it.  I 
expect  you  to  think  the  better  of  me  for  acknow- 
ledging it,  and  to  do  me  the  justice  to  observe  that 
I  bear  no  grudge  or  malice  toward  you  for  your 
coolness.  I  mean  to  give  you  the  greatest  possible 
token  of  my  esteem.  You  love  Madeleine  Blanchet, 
not  indeed  as  a  mother,  but  as  a  young  and  attrac- 
tive woman,  whom  you  wish  for  your  wife." 

'*  Oh!  "said  Francois,  blushing  like  a  girl,  'M 
love  her  as  a  mother,  and  my  heart  is  full  of  respect 
for  her." 

'*  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  answered  Jeannette; 
"but  you  love  her  in  two  ways,  for  your  face  says 
one  thing  and  your  words  another.  Very  well, 
Fran<;:ois;  you  dare  not  tell  her  what  you  dare  not 
even  confess  to  me,  and  you  do  not  know  whether 
she  can  answer  your  two  ways  of  loving." 

Jeannette  Vertaud  spoke  with  so  much  sense  and 
sweetness,  and  showed  Francois  such  true  friend- 
235 


FRANCOIS   THE   WAIF 

ship,  that  he  had  not  the  courage  to  deceive  her, 
and  pressing  her  hand,  he  told  her  that  she  was  like 
a  sister  to  him,  and  the  only  person  in  the  world  to 
whom  he  had  the  heart  to  disclose  his  secret. 

Jeannette  asked  him  several  questions,  which  he 
answered  tiuly  and  openly. 

*'  Francois,  my  friend,"  said  she,  "  I  understand  it 
all.  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  know  what  Made- 
leine Blanchet  will  think  about  it;  but  I  see  that 
you  might  be  for  years  in  her  company  without 
having  the  boldness  to  tell  her  what  you  have  on 
your  mind.  No  matter.  I  shall  find  out  for  you,  and 
shall  let  you  know.  My  father  and  you  and  I  shall 
set  out  to-morrow  for  a  friendly  visit  to  Cormouer, 
as  if  we  went  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  kind 
woman  who  brought  up  our  friend  Francois;  you 
must  take  my  father  to  walk  about  the  place,  under 
pretext  of  asking  his  advice,  and  I  shall  spend  the 
time  talking  with  Madeleine.  I  shall  use  a  great 
deal  of  tact,  and  shall  not  tell  what  your  feelings 
are  until  I  am  certain  of  hers." 

Francois  was  so  grateful  to  Jeannette  that  he  was 
ready  to  fall  on  his  knees  before  her;  and  Jean  Ver- 
taud,  who,  with  the  waifs  permission,  was  in- 
formed of  the  situation,  gave  his  consent  to  the 
236 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

plan.  Next  day  they  set  out;  Jeannette  rode  on  the 
croup  behind  her  father,  and  Franfpis  started  an 
hour  earlier  than  they  to  prepare  Madeleine  for  the 
visit  she  was  to  receive. 

The  sun  was  setting  as  Francois  approached  Cor- 
mouer.  A  storm  came  up  during  his  ride,  and  he 
was  drenched  to  the  skin;  but  he  never  murmured, 
for  he  had  good  hope  in  Jeannette's  friendly  offices, 
and  his  heart  was  lighter  than  when  he  had  left 
home.  The  water  was  dripping  from  the  bushes, 
and  the  blackbirds  were  singing  like  mad  in  thank- 
fulness for  a  last  gleam  from  the  sun  before  it  sank 
behind  the  hill  of  Grand-Corlay.  Great  flocks  of 
birds  fluttered  from  branch  to  branch  around  Fran- 
cois, and  their  joyous  chattering  cheered  his  spirits. 
He  thought  of  the  time  when  he  was  little,  and 
roamed  about  the  meadows,  whistling  to  attract  the 
birds,  absorbed  in  his  childish  dreams  and  fancies. 
Just  then  a  handsome  bullfinch  hovered  round  his 
head,  like  a  harbinger  of  good  luck  and  good  tid- 
ings, and  his  thoughts  wandered  back  to  his  Mother 
Zabelle  and  the  quaint  songs  of  the  olden  time,  with 
which  she  used  to  sing  him  to  sleep. 

Madeleine  did  not  expect  him  so  soon.  She  had 
even  feared  that  he  would  never  come  back  at  all, 
237 


FRANgOlS  THE   WAIF 

and  when  she  caught  sight  of  him,  she  could  not  help 
running  to  kiss  him,  and  was  surprised  to  see  how 
much  it  made  him  blush.  He  announced  the  ap- 
proaching visit,  and  apparently  as  much  afraid  of  hav- 
ing her  guess  his  feelings  as  he  was  grieved  to  have  her 
ignore  them,  in  order  to  prevent  her  suspecting  any- 
thing, he  told  her  that  Jean  Vertaud  thought  of  buy- 
ing some  land  in  the  neigborhood. 

Then  Madeleine  bestirred  herself  to  prepare  the 
best  entertainment  she  could  offer  to  Francois's 
friends. 

Jeannette  was  the  first  to  enter  the  house,  while  her 
father  was  putting  up  their  horse  in  the  stable ;  and 
as  s«on  as  she  saw  Madeleine,  she  took  a  great  lik- 
ing for  her,  a  liking  which  the  other  woman  fully  re- 
turned. They  began  by  shaking  hands,  but  they 
soon  fell  to  kissing  each  other  for  the  sake  of  their 
common  love  for  Francois,  and  they  spoke  together 
freely,  as  if  they  had  had  a  long  and  intimate  ac- 
quaintance. The  truth  is  they  were  both  excellent 
women,  and  made  such  a  pair  as  is  hard  to  find. 
Jeannette  could  not  help  a  pang  on  seeing  Made- 
leine, whom  she  knew  to  be  idolized  by  the  man  for 
whom  she  herself  still  cherished  a  lingering  fondness; 
but  she  felt  no  jealousy,  and  tried  to  forget  her  grief  in 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

the  good  action  on  which  she  was  bent.  On  the  other 
hand,  when  Madeleine  saw  the  young  woman's  sweet 
face  and  graceful  figure,  she  supposed  that  it  was  she 
whom  Francois  had  loved  and  pined  for,  that  they 
were  now  betrothed,  and  that  Jeannette  had  come  to 
bring  the  news  in  person;  but  neither  did  she  feel 
any  jealousy,  for  she  had  never  thought  of  Francois 
save  as  her  own  child. 

In  the  evening,  after  supper,  Father  Vertaud,  who 
was  tired  by  his  ride,  went  to  bed;  and  Jeannette 
took  Madeleine  out  into  the  garden  with  her,  after 
first  instructing  Francois  to  keep  a  little  aloof  with 
Jeannie,  but  still  near  enough  to  see  her  let  down  the 
corner  of  her  apron,  which  she  wore  tucked  up  on 
one  side,  for  this  was  to  be  the  signal  for  him  to  join 
them.  She  then  fulfilled  her  mission  conscientiously, 
and  so  skilfully  that  Madeleine  had  no  time  to  ex- 
claim, although  beyond  measure  astonished,  as  the 
matter  was  unfolded  to  her.  At  first  she  thought  it 
but  another  proof  of  Francois's  goodness  of  heart, 
that  he  wished  to  put  a  stop  to  all  evil  gossip,  and 
to  devote  his  life  to  her  service;  and  she  would  have 
refused,  thinking  it  too  great  a  sacrifice  on  the  part 
of  so  young  a  man  to  marry  a  woman  older  than 
himself  She  feared  he  would  repent  later,  and  could 
239 


FRANCOIS   THE  WAIF 

not  long  keep  his  faith  to  her,  without  vexation  and 
regret;  but  Jeannette  gave  her  to  understand  that 
the  waif  was  in  love  with  her,  heart  and  soul,  and 
that  he  was  losing  his  health  and  peace  of  mind 
because  of  her. 

This  was  inconceivable  to  Madeleine.  She  had 
lived  such  a  sober  and  retired  life,  never  adorning 
her  person,  never  appearing  in  public,  nor  listening 
to  flattery,  that  she  had  no  longer  any  idea  of  the 
impression  she  might  make  upon  a  man. 

''Then,"  said  Jeannette,  ''since  he  loves  you  so 
much,  and  will  die  if  you  refuse  him,  will  you  per- 
sist in  closing  your  eyes  and  ears  to  what  I  say  to 
you?  If  you  do,  it  must  be  because  you  dislike  the 
poor  young  fellow,  and  would  be  sorry  to  make  him 
happy." 

"  Do  not  say  that,  jeannette,"  answered  Made- 
leine; 'M  love  him  almost,  if  not  quite,  as  much  as 
my  Jeannie,  and  if  I  had  ever  suspected  that  he 
thought  of  me  in  another  light,  it  is  quite  possible 
that  my  affection  for  him  would  have  been  more 
passionate.  But  what  can  you  expect?  I  never 
dreamed  of  this,  and  I  am  still  so  dazed  that  I  do  not 
know  how  to  answer.  I  ask  for  time  to  think  of  it 
and  to  talk  it  over  with  him,  so  that  I  may  find  out 
240 


FRANgOIS  THE  WAIF 

whether  he  does  this  from  a  whim  or  out  of  mere 
pique,  or  whether,  perhaps,  he  thinks  it  is  a  duty  he 
owes  me.  This  I  am  afraid  of  most  of  all,  and  I 
think  he  has  repaid  me  fully  for  the  care  I  took  of 
him,  and  it  would  be  too  much  for  him  to  give  me 
his  liberty  and  himself,  at  least  unless  he  loves  me 
as  you  think  he  does." 

When  Jeannette  heard  these  words,  she  let  down 
the  corner  of  her  apron,  and  Francois,  who  was 
waiting  near  at  hand  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her, 
was  beside  them  in  an  instant.  The  clever  Jean- 
nette asked  Jeannie  to  show  her  the  fountain,  and 
they  strolled  off  together,  leaving  Madeleine  and 
Fran(;:ois  together. 

But  Madeleine,  who  had  expected  to  put  her  ques- 
tions to  the  waif,  in  perfect  calmness,  was  suddenly 
covered  with  shyness  and  confusion,  like  a  young 
girl ;  for  confusion  such  as  hers,  so  sweet  and  pleas- 
ant to  see,  belongs  to  no  age,  but  is  bred  of  inno- 
cence of  mind  and  purity  of  life.  When  Francois 
saw  that  his  dear  mother  blushed  and  trembled  as  he 
did,  he  received  it  as  a  more  favorable  token  than 
if  she  had  kept  her  usual  serene  manner.  He  took 
her  hand  and  arm,  but  he  could  not  speak.  Tremb- 
ling all  the  while,  she  tried  to  shake  herself  loose  and 
^6    .  241 


FRANgOIS   THE   WAIF 

to  follow  Jeannie  and  Jeannette,  but  he  held  her  fast, 
and  made  her  turn  back  with  him.  When  Made- 
leine saw  his  boldness  in  opposing  his  will  to  hers, 
she  understood,  better  than  if  he  had  spoken,  that  it 
was  no  longer  her  child,  the  waif,  but  her  lover, 
Francois,  that  walked  by  her  side. 

After  they  had  gone  a  little  distance,  silent,  but 
linked  arm  in  arm,  as  vine  is  interlaced  with  vine, 
Francois  said: 

**  Let  us  go  to  the  fountain ;  perhaps  I  may  find  my 
tongue  there." 

They  did  not  find  Jeannie  and  Jeannette  beside 
the  fountain,  for  they  had  gone  home ;  but  Francois 
found  courage  to  speak,  remembering  that  it  was 
there  he  had  seen  Madeleine  for  the  first  time,  and 
there,  too,  he  had  bidden  her  farewell,  eleven  years 
afterward.  We  must  believe  that  he  spoke  very 
fluently,  and  that  Madeleine  did  not  gainsay  him, 
for  they  were  still  there  at  midnight.  She  was  cry- 
ing for  joy,  and  he  was  on  his  knees  before  her, 
thanking  her  for  accepting  him  for  her  husband. 

''  There  ends  the  story,"  said  the  hemp-dresser, 
"for  it  would  take  too  long  to  tell  you  about  the 
wedding.     I  was  present,  myself,  and  the  same  day 
242 


FRANCOIS   THE   WAIF 

the  waif  married  Madeleine  in  the  parish  of  Mers, 
Jeannette  was  married  in  the  parish  of  Aigurande. 
Je^n  Vertaud  insisted  that  Francois  and  his  wife, 
and  Jeannie,  who  was  happy  as  a  king,  with  their 
friends,  relations,  and  acquaintances,  should  come  to 
his  house  for  the  wedding-feast,  which  was  finer, 
grander,  and  more  delightful  than  anything  I  have 
ever  seen  since." 

**Is  the  story  true  in  all  points?"  asked  Sylvinc 
Courtioux. 

"If  it  is  not,  it  might  be,"  answered  the  hemp- 
dresser.  "  If  you  do  not  believe  me,  go  and  see  for 
yourself." 


243 


14  DAY  USE 

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